


enigma

by place_called_space



Series: riddled with mystery [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being an Idiot, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Chaotic Neutral Harry, Character Bashing, Cunning Harry Potter, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Dark Prince Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Good Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Good Lucius Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter is Lord Voldemort's Son, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry takes no shit, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Hermione and Harry are siblings but not really, Horcruxes, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Parent Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Black as Padfoot, Slytherin Harry Potter, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, but they're still brother and sister, harry is in fact a riddle, harry is not actually harry, harry is resorted, like they're not blood related, the-boy-who-lived-to-frustrate-the-dark-lord, wonder how that'll turn out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/place_called_space/pseuds/place_called_space
Summary: After a frustrating summer filled with Dementors and Dursleys, Harry Potter can't wait to just get this damn court hearing over with. Sirius had drilled into him the proper etiquette and protocol for someone of his stature and Hermione had done her best to build him a rock-solid case. Still, a subtle manipulation by someone in the Ministry makes their plan null and void.Now, Harry has to find his way through Hogwarts in a way he's never had to before, while also trying to decipher the cryptic letters of his mysterious pen pal, who seems to know more than they say.(under construction)
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: riddled with mystery [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168166
Comments: 176
Kudos: 1312
Collections: BooksToMonitor, Dark Liege Potter, Mr Potter and Mr Riddle, Waiting for updates, why I only sleep an hour a night





	1. you have your mother's eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drawing room of Grimmauld Place has long been an epicenter for Blood Rituals, Dark Magic and the like. So when one of its own walks in under the guise of the Light, the magic that runs through his veins will stop at nothing to show him who he truly is.

"Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words-"

"But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic - they're going to be more worried what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"

"Oh my dear, I wish it were so but I'm afraid - MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

There was a loud _crack_ and a strong smell of mingled drink and stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered over-coat materialized right in front of them. He had short bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair, and bloodshot baggy eyes that have him the doleful look of a basset hound; he was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognized at once as an Invisibility Cloak. 

"'S' up, Figgy?" he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. "What 'appened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" Mrs. Figg cried. " _Dementors_ , you useless, skidding sneak thief!"

"Dementors?" repeated Mundungus, aghast. "Dementors here?"

"Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!" shrieked Mrs. Figg. "Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!"

"Blimey," said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry and back again. "Blimey, I..."

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? _Didn't I_?"

"I - well, I - " Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. "It... it was a very good business opportunity, see..."

Harry watched with amusement as Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noice it made it was full of cat food.

"Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!" 

"Yes - they - have!" yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. "And - it - had - better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you - weren't - there - to - help!"

"Keep your 'airnet on!" said, Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. "I'm going, I'm going!"

And with another loud _crack,_ he vanished. 

"I hope Dumbledore _murders_ him!" said Mrs. Figg furiously. "Now come _on_ , Harry, what are you waiting for?"

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semiconscious Dude a heave and staggered onward. 

* * *

_"Him."_

Harry froze, foot on the bottommost stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion. 

"BOY! COME HERE!"

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys. 

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in the front of the draining board, glaring at Harry though tiny, narrowed eyes. 

"What have you done to my son?" he said in a menacing growl. 

"Nothing," Harry said smoothly, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him. 

"What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it - was it his you-know-what, darling? Did he use - his _thing_?"

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded. 

"I didn't!" Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. "I didn't do anything to him, it was-"

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropping a large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden. 

* * *

"Where d'you think you're going?" yelled Uncle Vernon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. "I haven't finished with you, boy!"

"Get out of the way," said Harry quietly.

"You're going to stay here and explain how my son-"

"If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you," said Harry, raising the wand. 

"You can't pull that one on me!" snarled Uncle Vernon. "I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!"

"That _madhouse_ has chucked me out," said Harry with a manic smile. "So I can so whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One - two -"

* * *

"So," said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. "So you put some crackpot spell on my son so he'd hear voices and believe he was - was doomed to misery, or something, did you?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" said Harry, temper and voice rising together. " _It wasn't me!_ It was a couple of dementors!"

"A couple of - what's this codswallop?"

"De - men - tors," said Harry slowly and clearly. "Two of them."

"And what the ruddy hell are dementors?"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia. 

Two seconds' ringing silence followed these words and then Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear work. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing - but _Aunt Petunia_?

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. 

* * *

"Well, if that's all," said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Sirius or Hermione. 

"NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "SIT BACK DOWN!"

"What _now_?" said Harry impatiently. 

"DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon. "I want to know exactly what happened to my son!"

"FINE!" yelled Harry, and in his temper, emerald sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified. Harry took savage pleasure in their fear. 

"Dudle and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk," said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. "Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up-"

"But what ARE dementoids?" asked Uncle Vernon furiously. "What do they DO?"

"I _told_ you - they suck all the happiness out of you," said Harry, "and if they get the chance, they kiss you-"

"Kiss you?" said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. " _Kiss_ you?"

"It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth."

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream. 

"His _s_ _oul?_ They didn't take - he's still got his-"

She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him. 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

* * *

**Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. Don't** **endanger yourself any more than you have already.**

Harry found this to be such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing there. 

And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't _anybody_ going to say 'well done' for fighting off two dementors single-handedly? Both Mr. Weasley and Mrs.Weasley were acting as though he'd misbehaved and they were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done. 

"-a peck, I mean, a pack of owls shooting in and out of my house and I won't have it, boy, I won't-"

"I can't stop the owls coming," Harry snarled through clenched teeth, crushing Mrs. Weasley's letter in his fist. 

* * *

"Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" Moody growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form down your Patronus take?" said Lupin. 

"A stag," said Harry nervously. 

"That's him, Mad-Eye," said Lupin. 

* * *

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

**The headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.**

* * *

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how _are_ you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us- the dementors! When we heard, and that Ministry hearing - it's just outrageous, I've looked it all us, they can't expel you, they just _can't_ , there's provisions in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations-"

"Let him breath, Hermione," said Ron, grinning, closing the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him talker and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair, and freckles were the same. 

Hermione, still beaming, let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder. 

"Hedwig!"

The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers. 

"She's been in a right state," said Ron. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this-"

He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a helf-healed but clearly deep cut. 

"Oh yeah," Harry said, not feeling very apologetic. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know..."

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us-"

"-swear not to tell me," said Harry. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."

The warm glow that had flared inside him when he saw his two best friends was doused as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden - after yearning to see them for a solid month - he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone. 

There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others. 

"He seemed to think it was best," said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," said Harry. He noticed her hands also bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles-" Ron began. 

"Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows and not doing anything to warm the ice in his voice. "Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?"

"Well, no - but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time-"

Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he has just missed a step while walking down stairs. Everyone had known he was followed except for him. 

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even and not let his voice crack in his anger. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"

"He was so angry," said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift ended. He was scary."

"Well, I'm glad he left," Harry said coldly. "If he hadn't I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."

"Aren't you... aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" said Hermione quietly. 

"No," Harry said smoothly, knowing that Hermione would practically trip over herself to help him if he asked her to, regardless of the outcome of this conversation. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. 

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. "Did you - er - bother to ask him at all?"

He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper. 

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted-"

"He could still've kept me informed if he wanted to,” Harry said shortly. “You’re not telling me that he doesn’t have ways to send messages without owls.”

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, “I thought that too. But he didn’t want you to know anything.” 

“Maybe he thinks I can’t be trusted,” said Harry, watching their expressions with a bitter twist to his face, rage swelling within him.

”Don’t be thick,” said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

”Or that I can’t take care of myself-“

”Of course he doesn’t think that!” said Hermione anxiously.

”So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in on everything going on here?” said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. “How come you two are allowed to know everything that’s going on-?”

“We’re not!” Ron interrupted. “Mum won’t let us near the meetings, she says we’re too young-“

Anger swelled up inside him and before he knew it, Harry was shouting. 

“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO’VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER’S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?”

Every bitter and resentful thought that Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him; his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst from their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off on top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.

“WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!”

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, while Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Harry’s rage was so great that he barely noticed that everything in the room was vibrating in place, and Ron and Hermione were looking at him with what seemed like fear. Hedwig screeched.

“BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT’S BEEN HAPPENING?”

“Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did-” Hermione began.

“CAN’T’VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU’D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR-”

“Well, he did-”

“FOUR WEEKS I’VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON-”

“We wanted to-”

“I SUPPOSE YOU’VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN’T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER-”

“No, honest-”

“Harry, we’re really sorry!” said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. “You’re absolutely right, Harry, I’d be furious if it was me!”

Suddenly aware of how loud he'd been and how anybody could've heard his tirade, Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply and still angry, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet. 

"What _is_ this place anyway?" he shot at Ron and Hermione. 

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once. 

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry, coming to a halt with his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Quite a few people-"

"-we've only met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more..."

Harry glared at them. 

_"Well?"_ he demanded, looking from one to the other. 

"Er," Ron blinked slowly. "Well what?":

" _Voldemort!"_ said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order doesn't let us in on their meetings, so we don't know the details," said Hermione nervously, stumbling over her words as she saw the look on Harry's face. "But we've got a general idea...?"

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. "They're really useful."

"Extendable-?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know-"

"-some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order-" said Hermione. 

"-and some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?" said Harry sarcastically. 

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.

Harry snorted. 

* * *

_"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers-"_

Tonks apologized over and over again, at the same time dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. Then a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs.Weasley had abandoned. 

Harry grinned; he'd know that voice anywhere. 

The old woman's face blanched. 

_"Yoooou!"_ she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. _"Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"_

"I said - shut - UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again. 

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. 

Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, turned to face him. 

"Hullo, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."

* * *

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," said Harry. 

Something like a grin flitted across Sirius' face, only the second Harry had seen since they'd hugged earlier. 

"Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

_"What?"_ said Harry incredulously. 

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would've broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights... I've been stuck inside for a month."

"How come?" asked Harry, frowning. 

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix... or so Dumbledore feels."

There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius was not very happy with the headmaster either - the very thought made his insides burn with anger again. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather. 

* * *

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn. 

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of dementors. Where second before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A fission had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary. 

"I _did!"_ said Harry indignantly, relieved that Sirius finally saw his point. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so-"

"And they're quite alright," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're too young."

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone. 

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got a right to know what's been happen-"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly. 

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily. 

_"We've_ been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George. 

" _'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'_ " said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry on the other hand-"

"It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for the boy!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kindly face looked dangerous. “You haven’t forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?”

“Which bit?” Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

“The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know_ ,” said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words, making Harry bristle and straighten in his chair. 

Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George’s heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin’s eyes were fixed on Sirius.

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” said Sirius. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back” (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), “he has more right than most to-”

“He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” said Mrs. Weasley. “He’s only fifteen and-”

“-and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” said Sirius, “and more than some-”

“No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still-”

“He’s not a child!” said Sirius impatiently.

“He’s not an adult either!” said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. “He’s not _James_ , Sirius!”

“I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,” said Sirius coldly and Harry could sense the danger in his voice, the unspoken warning that went unheeded.

“I’m not sure you are!” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!”

“What’s wrong with that?” said Harry.

“What’s wrong, Harry, is that you are _not_ James, however much you might look like him!” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. “You are still at school and the adults responsible for you should not forget it!”

“Meaning I’m an irresponsible godfather?” demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

“Meaning you’ve been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —”

“We’ll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!” said Sirius loudly.

“Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on her husband. “Arthur, back me up!”

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he say, “Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters-”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!”

“Personally,” said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, “I think it better that Harry gets the facts - not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from... others.”

His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure that Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge, though it didn't seem to warrant the Weasley matriarch's reaction. 

Mrs. Weasley seemed to pale immediately, pursing her lips together in a thin line. 

“Well,” she said, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, “well... I can see I’m going to be overruled. I’ll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry’s best interests at heart-”

“He’s not your son,” said Sirius quietly and Harry recognized the final warning being given.

“He’s as good as,” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. “Who else has he got?”

“He’s got me!”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling in a rare show of disgust that made Harry's eyes narrow. “The thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked up in _Azkaban_ , hasn’t it?”

Harry's temper roared out of his grasp again and he stood up so fast he sent his chair careening into the wall behind him. Every occupant, sans Lupin and Sirius, flinched at the noise. Crookshanks hissed and scurried underneath a wardrobe holding china, making the fragile dishes inside rattle. 

Harry turned to glare at Mrs. Weasley. 

"Harry, dear-" she started, looking sheepish now that he'd decided to enter the conversation. 

"Don't," said Harry, voice wavering in his anger. It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides. Blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to defend the only family he had left. 

"But-"

"Enough." He did not look at Mrs. Weasley, preferring instead to study the candles floating above their heads, providing some light but being far overshadowed by the large fire at the far end of the room. 

"Harry, please listen. You must understand that I'm simply trying to ensure your-"

"I understand that you are trying to shelter me, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, forcing his voice to be even as they locked eyes. "But _you_ must understand that my life has been put in danger every year that I've attended Hogwarts. Now that the Dark Lord has risen, that danger has only increased tenfold. I'd appreciate it if my hunger for knowledge wasn't hampered in the hopes that it would keep me safe when it might in fact be the thing that gets me killed."

Everyone around the table was silent, though Sirius and Hermione's eyes were shining with pride. 

"Now, if you'll excuse us, my godfathers and I will be having this conversation privately."

Harry made to walk out and he heard Sirius and Lupin's chairs scrape against the floor as they followed him. His heart was pounding in his ears; his movements felt clunky and uncoordinated and he knew that everyone's eyes were on him as they exited the kitchen. Still, Harry powered through and waited until the door clicked shut behind them before slumping against the wall.

"Now what?" he asked Lupin and Sirius. The looked at each other, then back at him. 

"Didn't you want to talk, Harry?" said Sirius. 

"Yes, but I'm not exactly a resident, aren't I? I don't want to walk into a room and walk out only being able to talk in Gnomish."

Sirius barked out a laugh. He tugged Harry to another door that looked like it hadn't been opened in ages and took out his wand, which he wove in intricate patterns while muttering to himself.

"Gone stir crazy yet?" Harry asked Lupin while Sirius was flapping his arms.

"Me or him?" said Lupin wryly. He made a face that made his eyeballs seem to pop out of their sockets and Harry snorted. 

The doorknob turned without assistance and the door opened with a click. Sirius stepped in cautiously and Harry and Lupin filed in after him, eyes darting around to observe what was in the room, though it was too dark to see much.

Harry felt a subtle warmth rush through him as he crossed the threshold and he started.

"What was that?" said Harry. 

"What are you on about?" Sirius said, turning to give him a curiously raised eyebrow. 

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, not wanting to seem weird. 

It was similar to the feeling he got from Hogwarts at the beginning of each year, like the magical building itself was welcoming him, though the welcome from this particular magical building was different. 

Torches lined the wall, springing to life one by one and illuminating another foot or so of the room as they went. Each flame cast a light on a different tapestry, each of them looking ancient and looked as though they'd been on the olive-green walls for ages. The carpet puffed out little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and Harry was choking in moments. Remus gave the air a little flick with his wand and a gust of wind seemed to flow through the room, cleaning the air to breathable levels. 

Harry's eyes were now starting to sting and he cursed softly, removing his glasses. His eyes were starting to tear up and he coughed roughly, feeling as though there wasn't enough liquid in his mouth and too much liquid in his eyes. 

Sirius clapped him on the back.

"You alright there, Harry?

"Never better," Harry croaked out, still blinking rapidly, tears starting to fall. His voice was hoarser than normal but he paid no mind to it. There had always been dust in his cupboard at Privet Drive but never this much. 

Sirius motioned to a few armchairs with his wand and they cleaned up instantly into something touchable. Harry sat on the edge of one gingerly, only relaxing once he was sure dust wouldn't come spewing out of them if he sat down with too much gusto. 

Lupin sank into a chair as well and it was only after he'd taken his seat, that Sirius spoke. 

"Okay, Harry... what do you want to know?"

Harry opened his mouth and was about to ask the questions that he had been obsessing over for a month when the door creaked open a tad and a house-elf edged into the room. 

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike. 

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's.

"Hello, Kreacher," said Sirius very loudly, giving Harry a pointed look. 

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise. 

"Kreacher did not see Master Black," he said, turning around and flinging himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor. 

Sirius did not look impressed. 

"What do you want anyway?" said Sirius. 

Kreacher's huge eyes darted around to look anywhere but Sirius. 

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively. 

"A likely story," said Sirius impatiently. He was glowering at the elf from his position on the chair and Harry fleetingly wished that Hermione was here, only so he could see her response to Sirius' treatment of Kreacher. 

"Come now, Sirius," Harry said, smiling blithely. "The house-elf is just _cleaning_ , give him a break."

Kreacher looked at him suspiciously before his already large eyes widened to comical proportions, and he pointed to Harry with a gnarled finger. 

"Y-you..." he whispered reverently, tears starting to leak from his eyes. Harry was nearly knocked off the chair as the house-elf barreled into his legs. 

"Uhh..."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say as Kreacher started sobbing into his jeans. He looked to Sirius in confusion. He looked just about at perplexed at Harry felt but his expression changed as they locked eyes. 

"What's wrong with your eyes?" said Sirius. 

Harry dragged a hand across his face, wiping away residual tears. He didn't notice that he had never put his glasses back on, and yet he could see with perfect clarity.

"Might just be the dust, Sirius, I'm probably allergic," said Harry. 

"No," Sirius said, standing up and kneeling next to Harry's chair. "I don't think it's that."

Remus was kneeling on his other side and Harry watched his reaction carefully. 

"What is it?" Harry asked when neither Sirius nor Remus divulged any information. Remus' eyes had widened slightly, a change so minute that Harry wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been looking for it. 

Sirius finally looked at him, ignoring the house-elf still sobbing into his pants.

"See for yourself," he breathed, conjuring a mirror out of thin air with a wave of his wand. 

Harry took it and looked at his reflection, expecting to see his eyes swollen and red from his newly developed dust allergy, or perhaps his face was irritated. 

Heavy-lidded silver eyes looked back at him, bright and compelling, contrasting sharply with the tan skin surrounding them. 

Harry snorted. 

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked Sirius and Remus, who were looking at him with far too much seriousness for it to be a joke. 

Kreacher's head snapped up. 

"'Tis not a joke, sir. You are a Black." said Kreacher with an annoying amount of certainty. 

"Kreacher," said Sirius. He'd stood up and was now tapping the tip of his wand against his palm threateningly. "Explain."

Kreacher bowed. 

"Yes, Master." 

The house-elf wasted no time in grabbing Harry's hand and hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. Nearly tripping over himself from the whiplash, Harry struggled to not step on the decrepit house-elf, afraid one misplaced step would end the thing's life. 

They were across the room in seconds, Sirius hot on their heels. Kreacher stopped abruptly in front of one of the tapestries lining the wall. 

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree that dated back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

**The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black**

_**Toujours Pur** _

Remus leaned forward, scanning the far was with utmost concentration. Sirius, on the other hand, looked to be struggling to contain his laughter. 

"Kreacher, what is this madness?" he asked, gesturing to the tapestry. 

"Young Master is a Black, Master." Kreacher shook Harry's arm for emphasis. "Kreacher be's sure of it."

Muttering about mad house-elves under his breath, Sirius stared at the bottommost part of the monstrous tapestry, his finger flowing along branches as he looked for one name in particular. It froze and Harry watched as Sirius' entire frame seemed to stiffen. He suddenly paled, looking at Harry with appraisal and growing horror.

"Merlin," he breathed, finger still frozen on one particular name. 

"Sirius?" Harry questioned, starting to become really frightened. 

Sirius morphed his face into a carefully crafted mask of calm. He motioned to the armchairs with his wand and they disappeared, reappearing closer to the tapestry they were looking at. 

Sirius was the first to collapse into his seat, with Harry and Remus following suit, exchanging curious looks. 

"That is a self-updating family tree," Sirius said, tension lining his words. "It automatically records every child born with Black blood and their parents. I haven't been in here since I got back, so I didn't know... but even if I did, who'd have thought... why didn't James _say_ anything..." Sirius' voice was getting softer and Harry got the distance impression that he was talking more to himself than them. 

"Sirius," Remus prompted gently. Sirius finally made eye contact with Harry and took a deep breath. 

"It's can't be Confunded, it's never been wrong. According to the Tapestry, there was an Anubis Caelum born fifteen years ago, on the thirteenth of July, and he's the Heir to the House of Black." Sirius looked at Harry like it was supposed to answer all his unasked questions.

"And?" Harry questioned in a tone that betrayed his growing impatience. "What has that got to do with me?"

Kreacher looked scandalized. 

"Young Master does not know?" said Kreacher, looking at Harry with his large eyes and still gripping his hand as though he was ready to faint. 

"Er... know what?" Harry addressed Kreacher instead of Sirius this time, not in a mood to deal with his half-assed answers. Kreacher looked delighted at the change and eagerly pulled Harry to his feet. The house-elf pulled him closer to the Tapestry and crouched down so that he was eye level to the bottommost part of it, forcing Harry to kneel with him. 

"Here, here, here..." Kreacher mumbled, pointing a knobby finger to one of the two names on that branch. It had a small raven perched on the area where the name was. It read:

**Anubis Caelum Riddle**

**13 July, 1980 -**

Harry's blood ran cold at the name and he forced himself to not make a sound. He doubted anyone else but Dumbledore knew Voldemort's true name and he didn't feel like regaling the story to Sirius, Remus, and (by extension) Kreacher.

A small part of Harry snarled that Dumbledore had kept information from him all summer; why should he honor one of Dumbledore's secrets? A larger part of him argued back that Dumbledore wasn't what was important right now, and the snarling voice quieted. 

"What does that raven mean?" Harry asked, pointing to the dark bird on Anubis's name tag. 

"It signifies who the Heir to the House is," Sirius said from behind him. "The raven on mine has its wings spread, signifying me as the Lord of the House of Black."

It was true. Sirius' raven had its wings spread and it looked to be cawing while perched on Sirius' name tag. The one on Anubis's tag had yet to open its wings and seemed to be bowing to Sirius' raven. 

"How did you even know it was a raven?"

Harry turned and opened his mouth to respond to Remus' question when he realized that he didn't quite have an answer to that. 

"'Tis instinctive for every Black to know the animal of their forefathers." Kreacher said with the air of knowing something that should've been common knowledge. 

"What does this have to do with me?" Harry asked again, feeling irritation pierce through him. 

" _Everything_ , Young Master," Kreacher said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You is the Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

"Well, yeah," Harry said, looking to Sirius. "Sirius and I went to Gringotts to clear all that up."

About a year and a half earlier, Sirius and Harry had snuck to Gringotts to have Harry named Sirius' Heir. The goblins were sort of out of touch with current events so when the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black came in wanting to name his Heir, they had no arguments. 

"And how _did_ we clear that up, cub?"

"With a Blood Ritual, of course. How else were the goblins supposed to..." Harry trailed off, finally connecting the dots in his head. 

He'd used his blood in the Ritual to get him named Sirius' Heir. If he was Sirius' Heir, and Anubis was Sirius' Heir than that meant that Harry must be...

"I'm him?" Harry choked out through the haze of his shock. "I'm Anubis?" 

Potter or not, Harry sure had awful luck.

"But then why did I look like... Who're my parents? And how did I end up with..." There was the obvious answer, of course: he hadn't been wanted by his birth parents, and they'd cast him out as a result. 

The fact that at least one of Harry's parents was still alive and that they just hadn't wanted him somehow hurt more than knowing his adoptive parents were dead. 

Before Harry could spiral even further down the hole of self-deprecation, a sudden thought broke him out of his musings. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy, and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco, the other name in the bottommost level of the Tapestry. 

"You're related to the Malfoys!" Harry burst out, thoughts racing through his mind. _"We're_ related to the Malfoys!"

"The pureblood families are all interrelated," said Sirius. "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pureblood your choice is very limited, there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here - if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys."

But Harry's eyes had drifted to the left of Narcissa's name. There were two names there, Bellatrix and Andromeda. 

"Andromeda was one of my favorite cousins," Sirius said. "She married a Muggle-born wizard, Ted Tonks, and had a daughter, Nymphadora."

"We're related to Tonks?" Harry asked, surprised. 

"Yup," said Sirius, popping the 'p'.

But Harry's gaze was drawn to the name to the left of Andromeda's: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Tom Marvolo Riddle, and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Anubis Caedum, which had a small raven on its name tag. 

"W-who's she?" Harry pointed a shaking finger to Bellatrix's name. 

"She's in Azkaban," said Sirius softly. "Bella came in with Barty Crouch Jr. and the Lestrange brothers."

It was then that Harry felt the name and memory click into place, and he could feel his eyes blow wide. He has seen those people in Dumbledore's Pensieve this past year. He could clearly picture a beautiful woman with wild black curls and heavy-lidded silver eyes next to Barty Crouch Jr. and a pair of muscular brothers. 

The woman had been declaring her ever lasting devotion to her husband, the Dark Lord Voldemort, claiming he would return and take revenge for what Dumbledore had done, ranting her loyalty for the entire Wizengamot to hear while sitting in a chain covered chair like it was a throne. 

"I saw her trial," Harry croaked, "in Dumbledore's Pensieve this year. She's a _Death Eater_."

The snide voice from before snarled again, sneering at him a sentence that Harry had been hearing ever since he'd entered the magical world.

_You have your mother's eyes._


	2. trials and tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's trial at the Wizengamot, his thoughts on Dumbledore's interference, and his anger at the situation as a whole. Also, a special cameo from Uncle Luci.

Harry was careful to not let his anger show on his face as he entered the dungeon. Changing the time and place of a hearing was fine, that's not what Harry was angry about. He was angry that they had only planned to notify him _ten minutes before the new time_. It was lucky that he'd come with Mr. Weasley; it would have been catastrophic if he'd missed it. 

It didn't help that the dungeon was horribly familiar. He had been here before, inside Dumbledore's Pensieve. His mother had gotten sentenced to life in prison in this very room. 

The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torched. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell. 

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

"You're late."

"I'm aware," said Harry smoothly. "I hadn't been notified that the time and place had been changed until a few minutes ago."

A ripple went throughout the courtroom. 

"A time change?" A hard female voice asked. "There was no time change."

More anger went through Harry and he fought to keep his voice even. "That is not what I was told." He pulled a letter from the folds of his robes, opening it. He read the contents out loud:

" _'Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _"'Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12th August at 11am, at which time an official decision will be taken.'_ "

Another ripple through the crowd and Harry suppressed a smile. 

" _'Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries.'_

" _'With best wishes, yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk, Improper Use of Magic Office  
Ministry of Magic' _"

More murmuring, though this time there were some yells from the Wizengamot, calling for a dismissal of all charges, as the trial had clearly been sabotaged. Harry knew that wouldn't happen, not immediately anyway, but he appreciated the sentiment. 

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said the voice, though this time with a distinct waver. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat."

Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them, his mother being the most prominent one in his mind's eye. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor, keeping his head high and his steps brisk. He sat on the chair as if he owned it, and the chains clinked rather threateningly but did not bind him. Feeling slightly sick he looked up at the people seated on the bench above. 

There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity.

In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed too with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat on Fudge’s left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge’s right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow. 

“Very well,” said Fudge. “The accused being present - finally - let us begin. Are you ready?” he called down the row.

“Yes, sir,” said an eager voice Harry knew. Ron’s brother Percy was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy’s eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley-”

"-Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who groaned before turning in his seat. 

Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose.

The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome.

A powerful wave of irritation had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, annoyed at the man's interference. After ignoring Harry all summer, _now_ he wanted to help? He was looking to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously flustered Fudge. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our - er - message that the time and - er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early.”

“Yes - well - I suppose we’ll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you - ?”

“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore in a deceptively pleasant voice; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly. 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

"Charges?" he asked impatiently.

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.”

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section Thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

“Yes,” Harry lied.

“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”

“The Hover Charm in question was cast by a house-elf at the behest of his former Master. That particular house-elf is now employed at Hogwarts, he can be summoned if the court-”

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” said Fudge.

“Yes,” said Harry, annoyed at having been cut off, “but —”

“Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?”

“Yes, but —”

“Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?”

“Yes, but —”

“Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?

“Correct,” said Harry angrily, “but I only used it because we were —”

The witch with the monocle on Fudge’s left cut across him in a booming voice. She was the one who'd questioned the time change.

“You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “because —”

“A corporeal Patronus?”

“Yes,” said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, “it’s a stag, it’s always a stag.”

“Always?” boomed Madam Bones. “You have produced a Patronus before now?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “I’ve been doing it for over a year now.”

“And you are fifteen years old?”

“Yes.”

“You learned this at school?”

“Yes, Professor Remus Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the Dementors stationed around the school by the Ministry.”

“Impressive,” said Madam Bones, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at that age... very impressive indeed.”

Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.

“It’s not a question of how impressive the magic was,” said Fudge in a testy voice. “In fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!”

Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy’s sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech.

“As was the case previously, the casting of a Patronus was necessary considering the presence of dementors!” he said loudly before anyone could interrupt him again.

He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before.

"Dementors?" said Madam Bones after a moment, raising her thick eyebrows so that her monocle looked in danger of falling out. "What do you mean, boy?"

“I mean there were two dementors sent after me. The casting of a Patronus was necessary to save my life."

“Ah,” said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. “Yes. Yes, I thought we’d be hearing something like this.”

“Dementors in Little Whinging?” Madam Bones said in tones of great surprise. “I don’t understand —”

“Don’t you, Amelia?” said Fudge, still smirking. “Let me explain. He’s been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can’t see dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it’s just your word and no witnesses...”

“I’m not lying!” said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. “There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley, everything went dark and cold and the Muggle in question felt the change and ran for it. I'd be more than happy to submit my memory as evidence or repeat the story under the influence of Verita-”

“Enough, enough!” said Fudge with a very nervous look on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story-”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again.

“We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of dementors in that alleyway,” he said, “other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.”

Fudge’s plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let the air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, “We haven’t got time to listen to more taradiddles, I’m afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly-”

“I may be wrong,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, “but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn’t that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?” he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.

“True,” said Madam Bones. “Perfectly true.”

“Oh, very well, very well,” snapped Fudge. “Where is this person?”

“I brought her with me,” said Dumbledore. “She’s just outside the door. Should I-?”

“No! Weasley, you go,” Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, hurried down the stone steps from the judge’s balcony, and hastened past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them.

A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs. Figg. She looked scared and battier than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers. He hadn't planned on bringing any witnesses, so his case revolved solely around his experiences. Though perhaps his memory could serve to reinforce what Mrs. Figg said?

Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs. Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.

“Full name?” said Fudge loudly, when Mrs. Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat.

“Arabella Doreen Figg,” said Mrs. Figg in her quavery voice.

“And who exactly are you?” said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice.

“I’m a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,” said Mrs. Figg.

“We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Harry Potter,” said Madam Bones at once. “That situation has always been closely monitored, given... given past events.”

“I’m a Squib,” said Mrs. Figg. “So you wouldn’t have me registered, would you?”

“A Squib, eh?” said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. “We’ll be checking that. You’ll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?” he added, looking left and right along the bench where he sat.

“Yes, we can!” said Mrs. Figg indignantly.

Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. “Very well,” he said coolly. “What is your story?”

“I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, shortly after nine on the evening of the second of August,” gabbled Mrs. Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, “when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw dementors running-”

“Running?” said Madam Bones sharply. “Dementors don’t run, they glide.”

“That’s what I meant to say,” said Mrs. Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. “Gliding along the alley toward what looked like two boys.”

“What did they look like?” said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the monocle’s edges disappeared into her flesh.

“Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny —”

“No, no,” said Madam Bones impatiently, “the dementors... describe them.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. “They were big. Big and wearing cloaks.”

Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Mrs. Figg said to the contrary, it sounded to him as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like. He refused to panic, though. He could still salvage the case.

A dumpy wizard with a large black mustache in the second row leaned close to his neighbor, a frizzy-haired witch, and whispered something in her ear. She smirked and nodded.

Harry narrowed his eyes. 

"Big and wearing cloaks," repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. "I see. Anything else?"

“Yes,” said Mrs. Figg. “I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer’s night, mark you. And I felt... as though all happiness had gone from the world... and I remembered... dreadful things...”

Her voice shook and died.

Madam Bones’ eyes widened slightly. Harry could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it.

“What did the dementors do?” she asked, and Harry felt a rush of hope.

“They went for the boys,” said Mrs. Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face. “One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced silver vapor. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased away the second from his cousin. And that... that was what happened,” Mrs. Figg finished, somewhat lamely.

Harry didn't miss how she glossed over her own involvement in the affair. He couldn't refute it, as Dumbledore's influence credited her as a star witness, and to refute would throw the case into chaos. Harry couldn't even submit his memory, now! A key part of his memory was being found by Mrs. Figg after the incident occurred and now he would have to leave it up to Dumbledore. Unless, of course, he could somehow limit how much of the memory he could show...

It would've been so much simpler if Dumbledore just _hadn't gotten involved._

Madam Bones looked down at Mrs. Figg in silence; Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively “That’s what you saw, is it?”

“That was what happened,” Mrs. Figg repeated. Harry silently commended her for her wording. 

“Very well,” said Fudge. “You may go.”

Mrs. Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off toward the door again. Harry heard it thud shut behind her.

“Not a very convincing witness,” said Fudge loftily.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Madam Bones in her booming voice. “She certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can’t imagine why she would say they were there if they weren’t —”

“But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?” snorted Fudge. “The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn’t have bet-”

Harry saw Dumbledore opening his mouth to say something and immediately went to override him. 

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,” said Harry lightly.

The witch sitting to the right of Fudge with her face in shadow moved slightly, but everyone else was quite still and silent, including Dumbledore.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” asked Fudge icily.

“It means that I think they were ordered there,” said Harry.

“I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!” barked Fudge.

“Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days,” said Dumbledore calmly. Harry bristled at the controversial sentence. “I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.”

“Yes, you have,” said Fudge forcefully, “and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to.”

“Then,” said Harry, quietly but clearly, “we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.”

In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forward so that Harry saw her for the first time. He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Vernon Dursley, and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round, and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.

“The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,” said Fudge.

The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak.

“I’m sure I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Potter,” she said with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. “So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered the attack on you!”

She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.

Harry hated her instantly. 

"Regardless of my stance on the topic, it goes without saying that there should be an investigation into the possible involvement of a Ministry official in this case." Harry paused, just for effect. "Of course, if you would rather I launched an inquiry of my own, I would be _more_ than happy to. I know a few people who know a few people in the Daily Prophet. Perhaps I could hire a private investigator...?"

At the mention of the major media outlet, the entire Wizengamot rustled and Harry wasn't exactly sure that he'd made the right decision in riling them up, but then he saw the nervous and fearful expressions on the judges' faces and he knew he'd struck a nerve. 

Umbridge, however, only seemed incensed at the proposal. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were making a threat," she sneered at him, her voice a careful mask of calm. 

"Well, do you?" asked Harry innocently. 

"Do I _what?"_ Umbridge practically croaked at him. 

Harry smiled. "Know better."

Silence. A true, ringing silence that brought all eyes to him. Harry paid them no mind, instead choosing to revel in the look of pure and utter shock that overcame Umbridge's face. She looked so insulted that Harry almost laughed out loud. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry seen Dumbledore physically recoil and turn to look at him in astonishment before reluctantly turning back to the Wizengamot. 

“If it is true that the dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two dementors attacked Harry a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,” said Dumbledore in a slightly shaky voice, obviously attempting to salvage the situation. “Of course, these particular dementors may have been outside Ministry control-”

“There are no dementors outside Ministry control!” snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.

Harry didn't weigh in on the matter. That was Dumbledore's battle, not his.

“Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorization.”

“It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!” snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Vernon Dursley would have been proud.

“Of course it isn’t,” said Dumbledore mildly. “I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.” He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.

“I would remind everybody that the behavior of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy’s imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!” said Fudge. “We are here to examine Harry Potter’s offenses under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!”

“Of course we are,” said Harry, “but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations that threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the-”

“We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!” snarled Fudge.

“Of course you are,” said Harry with a deceptively courteous smile. “Then we are in agreement that my use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances it describes?”

“If there were dementors, which I doubt-”

“You have heard from an eyewitness,” Harry interrupted, temper rising. “If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.”

Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him before turning to Harry's right. “I want this over with today, Dumbledore!”

“And it _will_ be over with today,” said Harry. "With the court's permission, I would like to submit my memory of the incident for viewing."

It was a bluff. A complete and total bluff. Dumbledore's appearance had thrown the case that Harry, Sirius, and Hermione had worked tirelessly on out of the window. He wasn't even sure if he could limit or alter the memory before he presented it to the court. But the main reason he'd said that was to see the reactions of the Wizengamot. 

Umbridge shifted slightly in her chair. Harry did not miss the movement. 

“I-that-not-” blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. “It’s-"

“But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,” said Dumbledore.

“Serious miscarriage, my hat!” said Fudge at the top of his voice. “Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you’ve forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago —”

“That wasn’t me, it was a house-elf!” said Harry.

“YOU SEE?” roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry’s direction. “A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you-”

“The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,” said Dumbledore. “I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.”

Harry was beyond angry now and he wasn't sure his mask of indifference would hold up any longer. He had already _said all that, why wasn't anyone taking him seriously._

“I - not - I haven’t got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that’s not the only - he blew up his aunt, for God’s sake!” Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge’s bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.

“And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,” said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

“And I haven’t even started on what he gets up to at school-”

“-but as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanors at school, my behavior at said school is therefore not relevant to this inquiry,” said Harry, politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words, a warning that went unheeded.

“Oho!” said Fudge. “Not our business what you do at school, eh? You think so?”

“The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Minister, as I'm sure the Headmaster reminded you on the night of the second of August,” said Harry. “Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven. In your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.”

Another ripple through the courtroom and Fudge saw that he was rapidly losing his grip on the situation. 

“Laws can be changed,” said Fudge savagely.

“Clearly!" Harry said, drawing all attention to him. "It's become practice to hold a full criminal trial for the simple matter of underage magic!"

A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.

“As far as I am aware, however,” Dumbledore said, “there is no law yet in place that says this court’s job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offense and he has presented his defense. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.”

Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, trying to see his expression; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry’s attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.

Harry looked around the room. His heart was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much and his temper had gotten away from him on more than a few occasions. He ought to have explained more fully about the dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed...

Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, wanting to tell the Wizengamot about the evidence he carried that had yet to be submitted, but his words caught in his throat when he realized that it would only undermine Mrs. Figg's testimony and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down.

Then the whispering stopped. Harry kept his eyes on the judges; their passive faces revealed nothing of the verdict. 

“Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” said Madam Bones’ booming voice.

Harry watched hands shoot up in the air. There were hands in the air, many of them... more than half! He tried to count, but before he could finish Madam Bones had said, “And those in favor of conviction?”

Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily mustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.

Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and then said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, “Very well, very well... cleared of all charges.”

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feet, pulling out his wand, and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. “Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all.”

And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.

Harry stood and dusted off the front of his robes. What a very strange encounter.

* * *

The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, and gathering up their papers and packing them away. Nobody seemed to be paying Harry the slightest bit of attention except the toad-like witch on Fudge’s right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. He ignored her.

He exited the room calmly, secure in the knowledge that he'd been cleared and there hadn't been an incident that had been detrimental to the case. Well, except for Dumbledore's spontaneous appearance but it hadn't derailed the case too much. 

He almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.

“Dumbledore didn’t say —”

“Cleared,” Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, “of all charges!”

Beaming, Mr. Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.

“Harry, that’s wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn’t have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can’t pretend I wasn’t-” But Mr. Weasley broke off because the courtroom door had just opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.

“Merlin’s beard,” said Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass, “you were tried by the full court?”

“Yes, apparently it's become tradition to summon the entire Wizengamot to a full criminal trial for underage magic,” said Harry loudly. There was a ripple of discomfort through the crowd that Harry pretended not to notice. 

One or two of the passing wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, “Morning, Arthur,” to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toad-like witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley’s mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had noticed his third son.

“I’m going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,” he said, beckoning Harry forward as Percy’s heels disappeared up the stairs to the ninth level. "I’ll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on...”

“So what will you have to do about the toilet?” Harry asked, grinning. Everything about a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green seemed hilarious at the moment. 

“Oh, it’s a simple enough anti-jinx,” said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, “but it’s not so much having to repair the damage, it’s more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it’s an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one-”

Mr. Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor, and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.

The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He too broke off in mid-conversation, his cold gray eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry’s face.

“Well, well, well... Patronus Potter,” said Lucius Malfoy coolly.

Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something heavy. He had last seen those cool gray eyes through slits in a Death Eater’s hood, and last heard that man’s voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort rose again. He could not believe that Lucius Malfoy _dared_ to look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

It also didn't help that he was married to Harry's birth mother's sister. 

“The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,” drawled Mr. Malfoy. “Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes... _Snakelike_ , in fact...”

Mr. Weasley gripped Harry’s shoulder in warning. He shook it off. 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Harry, emphasizing and elongating the 's' and relishing the shock that appeared on Mr. Malfoy's face. “One must always be careful of snakes. They might strike when you least expect it.”

Lucius Malfoy's face flashed with fear and Harry saw that same fear reflected in Fudge's expression. Their reactions were well worth the iron grip Mr. Weasley had on his shoulder. 

Mr. Malfoy didn't miss the motion and raised his eyes to Mr. Weasley’s face.

“And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?”

“I work here,” said Mr. Weasley shortly.

“Not _here_ , surely?” said Mr. Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing toward the door over Mr. Weasley’s shoulder. “I thought you were up on the second floor... Don’t you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artifacts home and bewitching them?”

“No,” said Mr. Weasley curtly, his fingers now biting into Harry’s shoulder.

“I don’t think private matters between myself and Mr. Weasley are any concern of yours, Mr. Malfoy,” said Harry, smoothing the front of his robes. Lucius' eyes followed the motion, taking in the fine material Harry's clothes were made of, and how they were tailored to his exact measurements. 

"Well," Mr. Malfoy ran his palms down his robes in the motion of drying sweaty hands and Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. “Shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?”

“Certainly,” said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr. Weasley. “This way, Lucius.”

They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr. Weasley did not let go of Harry’s shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift.

“What was he doing down here?” Harry burst out furiously.

“Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me,” said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely agitated as he glanced over his shoulder as though making sure they could not be overheard. “Trying to find out whether you’d been expelled or not. I’ll leave a note for Dumbledore when I drop you off, he ought to know Malfoy’s been talking to Fudge again. What private business they've got together is beyond me.”

“Gold, I expect,” said Harry angrily. 

The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost-deserted Atrium. Eric the security man was hidden behind his _Daily Prophet_ again. They had walked straight past the golden fountain before Harry remembered.

“Wait...” he told Mr. Weasley, and pulling his money bag from his pocket, he turned back to the fountain.

He looked up into the handsome wizard’s face, but up close, Harry thought he looked rather weak and foolish. The witch was wearing a vapid smile like a beauty contestant, and from what Harry knew of goblins and centaurs, they were most unlikely to be caught staring this soppily at humans of any description. Only the house-elf’s attitude of creeping servility looked convincing. With a grin at the thought of what Hermione would say if she could see the statue of the elf, Harry turned his money bag upside down and emptied not just ten Galleons, but the whole contents into the pool at the statues’ feet.


	3. gold and love potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's adverse reaction to Harry and Hermione being made Prefects draws Harry's suspicions. Dumbledore makes a visit to Grimmauld place and Hermione listens in, discovering something about the Weasleys that made her blood boil.

On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes. 

“Booklists have arrived,” he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. “About time, I thought they’d forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this...”

Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron’s head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter: It strangely contained three pieces of parchment, one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September, another telling him which books he would need for the coming year, and one that had a lump in it, as though there was something folded within it.

“Only two new ones,” he said, reading the list. “ _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_ , by Miranda Goshawk and _Defensive Magical Theory_ , by Wilbert Slinkhard.”

 _Crack_.

Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn’t even fall off his chair.

“We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,” said Fred conversationally.

“Because it means Dumbledore’s found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” said George.

“And about time too,” said Fred.

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, jumping down beside them.

“Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,” Fred told Harry, “and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.”

“Not surprising, is it, when you look at what’s happened to the last four?” said George.

“One sacked, one dead, one’s memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,” said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. “Yeah, I see what you mean."

Harry wrinkled his nose. 

"I'm not getting my hopes up, though." 

"Why not?" asked Fred. 

"Look at the book," said Harry, showing them the piece of parchment with the offending novel. " _Defensive Magical Theory?_ We aren't gonna be doing anything this year."

George groaned but Fred seemed preoccupied.

"What's up with you, Ron?" he asked.

Ron did not answer. Harry looked around. Ron was shuffling through the papers in his envelope, eventually standing up and looking around for something that must've dropped on the floor. 

"What's the matter?" said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron.

"I'm supposed to have three letters," said Ron through gritted teeth, still searching frantically. 

Harry suppressed a grin. 

" _I_ have three letters," he said as innocently as he could, waving his third letter in the air and inwardly enjoying the horror that flashed through Ron's eyes, followed closely by anger. 

The twins' heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.

"Ah, here it is..." mumbled Fred, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"We knew Dumbledore was _bound_ to pick you!" said George. 

Harry opened the letter and something scarlet and gold fell into his palm. He tossed aside the piece of parchment; he already knew what it said. He looked at the badge instead. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts. 

The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.

“Did you - did you get-?”

She spotted the badge in Harry’s hand and let out a shriek.

“I knew it!” she said excitedly, brandishing her letter and throwing herself at him, capturing him into a hug and refusing to let go. “Me too, Harry, me too!”

Harry returned the hug with a smile, silently enjoying how Ron refused to look at him. 

“Oh, Mum’s going to be revolting,” groaned George.

As if on cue, the door behind Hermione opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes. 

“Ginny said the booklists had come at last,” she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. “If you give them to me I’ll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you’re packing. Harry, I’ll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least four inches too short, I can’t believe how fast you’re growing... what color would you like?”

“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking.

“Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of gray socks and placing them on Harry's pile.

“His _badge_ ,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely shiny new _prefect’s badge_.”

Fred’s words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley’s preoccupation about pajamas.

“His... but... Ron, you’re not...?”

"No." Ron looked stony as he leaned his body on the wall. "It's Harry, not me."

"It - _what_ _?"_

"Harry's prefect, not me," Ron said. 

_"Harry?"_ said Mrs. Weasley, her jaw dropping. "But... are you sure? I mean-"

She turned red as Harry looked around at her, one arm still around Hermione's shoulders. 

"It's my name on the letter," he said. 

"I..." said Mrs. Weasley, looking thoroughly bewildered. "I... well... wow! Well done, Harry! That's really-"

"Unexpected?" Harry volunteered sarcastically.

"No," said Mrs. Weasley, blushing harder than ever, "no, it's not... you've done loads of... you're really..."

There was an awkward silence, broken only by the floorboard creaking again as Ron pushed himself away from the wall.

"Congratulations," said Ron, clapping him on the shoulder. 

He was grinning, but it was a very good, strained sort of grin. Harry replied with the brightest smile he could muster.

"Thanks, mate. Knew I could count on you." Harry winked and he saw a flash of bitterness in Ron's eyes. 

Harry turned to Hermione. 

"Come on," he said, grabbing her by the hand and not missing the way Ron's nostrils flared, "we should tell Sirius."

Harry led the way out the door. He heard the twins yell their good wishes before they Disapparated back to their room. On the way down the stairs, Harry dragged Hermione down into a crouch. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling a face. 

Harry shushed her and pointed to his ear, then up the stairs. Hermione's eyes narrowed but she didn't say anything. They listened to silence for a while, but then they heard Mrs. Weasley speak. 

"Care to tell me what just happened?" Her voice sounded harder than Harry had ever heard it. 

"You tell me!" Came Ron's voice. "I looked for my three letters, but there were only two!"

There was a rustling of papers and Harry knew Mrs. Weasley was looking through Ron's envelope. 

"I don't understand," she said, sounding thoroughly perplexed. "Dumbledore said-"

"Yeah, I know what Dumbledore said," said Ron sarcastically. "Dumbledore also said that Harry and Hermione would be wrapped around my and Ginny's fingers by now."

Harry frowned and Hermione made an angry noise from next to him. She made to stand and Harry pulled her back down, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking his head. 

_Not yet._

Hermione looked as though she was about to argue but then she sighed through her nose and went back to listening.

"-patient. Everything will happen as we've planned, I'm sure of it. We'll just have to... move everything up a bit." Mrs. Weasley said, sounding nervous. "You'll have to do it at school."

A pause, then:

"You want me to drug them at _school?_ Mum, that'll be nearly impossible!"

Ron's voice had risen and Mrs. Weasley shushed him harshly. 

"Quiet!" she hissed, her voice dropping so low Harry had to strain to hear it. She sighed. "We'll have this discussion later, Ron."

"Will Dumbledore be there?" Ron sounded angry. 

"I'll make sure of it, dear."

There were footsteps and Harry and Hermione rushed as quietly as they could down the steps. Harry led her to the drawing room and shut the door behind them, locking it as quietly as he could. 

Hermione looked incensed. 

"What the bloody hell was that?" she whisper yelled. "What were they talking about?"

"They've been planning this for years," Harry said numbly, sinking into an armchair. "All three of them."

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, sitting in the chair across from him. 

Harry took in a big breath and released it before telling her the story. 

"I've had my suspicions," he began, "that the Weasleys have been planning something. I don't know how deep the plot runs in the family, but I know for sure that Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny are in the center of it, as well as Dumbledore."

Hermione still looked angry, her hair bushing up like a cat's. 

"And what does this plan entail?" she asked, her fists clenching and unclenching sporadically. 

"As far as Sirius and I can tell? They plan to put dose us with a love potion, hoping that one day you'll marry Ron and I'll marry Ginny."

Hermione looked angry enough to kill. 

"How _dare_ he?" she seethed, standing up and pacing the length of the room. "We've been friends since first year and he plans to _drug_ me? To drug _you?"_

"As far as I know, you've only been included in the plan since fourth year."

Hermione's eyes widened in realization then she sneered, her normally kind face contorting into an uncharacteristic show of anger. 

"Since he first realized I was a _girl_ , right?"

Harry cracked a grin at the memory. "Yes, apparently that was his _awakening_."

Hermione punched him in the shoulder and sat back down. 

"But..." Hermione looked thoughtful. "What would they have to gain?"

"Gold, probably." Harry sneered. "They've seen the money in my vault, they've probably just been _waiting_ until I was old enough to marry Ginny and then have her poison me. As my wife, she'd be the only one left to inherit everything."

"Oh, that's _infuriating_!" Hermione burst out suddenly, standing once more and resuming her pacing. Halfway across the room, she paused and turned to him with a surprisingly vulnerable look on her face.

"What about me?" she asked.

Harry knew what she meant immediately and he hesitated.

"Probably just wants help with his homework for eternity." He didn't want to say the other reason out loud. 

Hermione, clever as always, simply gave him a flat look, sat in her chair again, and tugged on one of her curls. 

"Well, at least we know," she said finally. 

"Yeah... speaking of knowing-" Harry stood up. "-I've got something I want to show you." Looking bewildered, Hermione walked the length of the room with him, passively admiring the various tapestries on the wall. She was so focused that she rammed into Harry's back when he stopped at the last one. 

"Sorry, Harry!" she said, laughing slightly as she looked around. "These tapestries are amazing! How old do you reckon they are?"

"Well, this one dates back to the Middle Ages," said Harry, gesturing to the Black Family Tapestry. Hermione was at his side immediately, studying the Tapestry as though it held the answer to life itself. 

"Fascinating!" Her eyes were already nearing the bottom of the Tapestry and Harry waited for her to see what he wanted her to see. He watched her eyes lock on one name and her lips parted in surprise. 

"Harry..." she trailed off, eyes still on the name. "What did you say Voldemort's real name was?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry said.

Hermione stumbled back. 

"Harry, I think he has a _kid."_

"Oh, I know," said Harry, removing a ring from his hand and feeling as though someone dumped a cold bucket of water on him.

"What d'you m-" Hermione began, finally looking over at him before stopping short.

His Glamour had long since fallen away. 

"Hermione," Anubis started, his voice sounding lower and huskier than normal. "Let me explain."

"Explain?" she shrieked, looking far more frazzled than Anubis had ever seen her. 

Anubis opened his mouth to answer and assuage his friend's fears when there was a faint click coming from the door and his head snapped up. 

The door opened _(didn't I lock that?_ _)_ and Sirius walked in, halfway through stowing his wand in his robes. 

"Ah! Anubis, Hermione," he greeted, locking the door behind him, "thought I'd find you holed up in here."

"Sirius!" Hermione said, looking relieved. "Maybe you'll make some... wait, _Anubis?"_ Evidently, she had recognized the name on the Tapestry. 

Sirius' laugh sounded like a bark. 

"Haven't finished the story yet, pup?"

"No," Anubis bit out, looking amused. "We were very rudely interrupted." He let himself fall backward into a chair.

"Well, let me assist you," Sirius said, sinking into a chair as well. Hermione looked on edge but she gingerly sat as well. 

"It all started on a dark and gloomy night-"

"Oh, bugger off, Sirius!"

* * *

If her son had been selected as Prefect, you'd best believe that Mrs. Weasley would've thrown a party to honor the fourth Prefect in the family. Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley thought that Dumbledore broke his promise by making Harry the Gryffindor Prefect and thus, no party was thrown. 

Mad-Eye Moody was still in attendance, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, but only for the occasion of shift changes.

Albus Dumbledore decides to stop by on a whim, especially after receiving an angry Howler from Mrs. Weasley...

* * *

"Oi, Moony, have you heard?"

Remus' head snapped up from his food as he looked at Sirius suspiciously, as though he was expecting a joke to be made at his expense. 

"Heard what?"

"Harry here-" Sirius slapped Harry roughly on the back and he nearly impaled himself on his fork. "-was named Prefect."

The table fell silent and Harry saw Remus' face split wide with a grin. 

"That's _wonderful,_ Harry!" said Remus. "I also have an inkling as to who might be your counterpart."

He sent a loaded look to Harry's left and Hermione beamed.

"I think you might be onto something, Remus," said Harry, leaning back in his chair and stroking his chin in thought. 

Hermione burst out laughing. 

"Alright, alright, you've got us," she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. "You're looking at the newest Gryffindor Prefects!"

Cheers permeated the air but Harry noticed that Hermione had seen Ron and Ginny exchange sullen looks with one another. 

"Ron, mate," Harry started, bringing all attention to the youngest male of the Weasley line. "What's wrong?"

"You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."

Playing dumb, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, playing the part of being apparently as nonplussed as he was. 

"What's the problem?" asked Harry.

"Problem? There's no problem," said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. "Not according to you, anyway."

The silence was stifling. 

"Well, you've obviously got a problem," said Harry, anger rising. "Spit it out, will you?"

Ron put down his utensils and pinned Harry to his seat with an angry look. The fake smile had dropped from his face and he looked livid. 

"All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the room because some other damn thing has been handed to you on a silver platter. Just add it to the list."

"Add it to the list?" repeated Harry. 

Dread doused Harry's jubilation as he saw the look on Hermione's face. Ron was confirming exactly what he had suspected, and in Hermione's eyes, this was unforgivable. 

"Ron," Mrs. Weasley said fearfully, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it. 

"Yeah, add it to the list!" shouted Ron, and he leaned forward toward Harry. "Didn't you hear what I said? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only a Prefect's badge, Harry 'The Chosen One' Potter expected to graduate early-"

A growl left Harry's throat before he could stop it and he leaned toward Ron, who jerked back as though Harry had made to punch him.

"You think I wanted this?" Harry bellowed, moving aside his hair to reveal the jagged scar on his forehead. "You think I want the death threats and the life-threatening experiences and everyone knowing who I am as soon as they see my scar?" 

"Don't act like you hate it!" yelled Ron, the color in his face returning in red splotches. "You enjoy having everyone kiss your arse every chance they get, don't you! That's why you found a way to sneak your name in the Goblet, huh? You just wanted the attention-"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. You know that I didn't _plan_ on getting attacked by Voldemort as a child, right? You do know that it's not just some elaborate plot to gain fame, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you did-"

Anger swelled within Harry and he made to go for his wand; Ron reacted, but before either wand was cleared of its owner's pocket, Mrs. Weasley had stood up. 

"RON!!" she cried and he froze. "I will not have you fighting! Today is a special day for Harry and Hermione and you should be happy for them!" 

Ron still looked furious and he was glaring at Harry as though he wanted to kill him. Harry would gladly provide him with an opportunity to sort out their differences, but there were too many people around. 

Harry and Ron glared from either side of the table. Not even knowing that Ron had been planning to drug him had gotten Harry this mad. Even the knowledge that he wasn't really a Potter by blood didn't temper the fire that had ignited in Harry at Ron's words. 

The rest of dinner was a very tense affair. 

* * *

"Stop talking."

"What?

"Don't worry about packing your things. This is your room, you keep it. I'm leaving."

Ron looked completely shocked as Harry didn't even pause his packing, still shoving things angrily into his trunk. 

"What do you mean you're leaving? Where are you gonna stay?"

"Well, there's an entire floor of bedrooms upstairs that have been cleaned in preparation for my arrival, so probably one of those. And don't bother trying to come see me, Kreacher is under strict instructions to not let anyone but Sirius, Hermione, and Remus in."

Harry felt Ron glare at the back of his head and decided to leave it at that, shutting his trunk with the finality of a wax seal on an envelope. He went to leave, his trunk in one hand and Hedwig's cage in the other. He was almost at the door when Ron grabbed his arm. 

"Hey," said Ron angrily, turning Harry around. "You know, it's not just my fault-"

"You're wrong. I shouldn't have to keep things from you. I shouldn't have to hide my clothes, turn down interviews, charity work, worrying that it might make you feel lesser then. But let's be clear," Harry stepped closer to Ron, forcing him to backpedal, "the problem with our friendship was not my fame or my family's money. It's that you're a coward."

Ron puffed up and was about to say something insulting, no doubt, but Harry didn't give him the chance to. 

"You're no more of a Gryffindor than Peter Pettigrew was," Harry said scathingly, shoving a finger in Ron's face and drawing himself up to his full height. 

Ron looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. He made to charge at Harry but Hermione, who'd just entered the room, intervened. 

"Ron!" said Hermione, forcing her way between them and pushing Ron away, "Don't do something you'll regret later!"

Ron stopped his advance and looked at Hermione with an incredulous look on his face. 

"What are you doing?" he asked her with the air of someone who'd expected to find an ally and instead found an enemy. 

"It's not _our job_ to make you feel like a proper Gryffindor or to make you feel more like a man. We're not gonna come running after you trying to make you grow up! We can't make you something you're not."

And with that, Hermione left Ron gobsmacked in the middle of his bedroom, leading Harry out of the room and slamming the door.

* * *

"Oh Anubis, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"

 _"Jealous?"_ Anubis said incredulously, unpacking his things to repack them in a neater way. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

"Look," said Hermione patiently from her reclined position on his bed, "it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," she added quickly, seeing Anubis open his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it... but - well - you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against, and you're his best friend-"

" _-w_ _as_ his best friend-"

"-and you're really famous." Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him. "He's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many..."

"Great," said Anubis bitterly, throwing a pair of socks across the room. "Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it... People gawking at my forehead everywhere I go..."

"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione said shortly. "I said that we're not going to go running around after him until he grows up and I meant it!"

"Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken..." Anubis grumbled under his breath.

"That's not funny," said Hermione in a quiet voice. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious and Anubis regretted saying anything loud enough that she could hear. "Anubis, I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"

"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the-"

 _"Find out what happened to you._ You've got to be curious how you ended up with the Potters, especially considering the... questionable circumstances you seem to have found yourself in."

"Come off it," said Anubis, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, as though the room wasn't on a whole separate floor. "Dumbledore would shut me down. If I make too many ripples in the pond, he'll probably come bursting into the common room and Obliviate me then and there!"

"You know he can't do that," Hermione said seriously. "He'd have to fight me off first."

Anubis felt a smile tug at his lips and he was about to return the sentiment when the door to his room opened.

Both Anubis and Hermione whipped around, expecting someone to have gotten past Kreacher's charm. Instead, the house-elf himself was standing there, and he immediately dropped into a low bow at the sight of Anubis. 

"Young Master," he greeted. "There be's a _guest_ at the Manor."

"A guest?" Anubis frowned. "Who is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore," the house-elf said in a voice resembling carefully restrained rage. 

Anubis felt inclined to agree with the sentiment. 

"Do you know what he's doing here?" asked Hermione. 

"No, Young Mistress," Kreacher responded, looking despondent. "But he be's talking to the Blood Traitor and her youngest spawn."

Anubis and Hermione exchanged a look. Mrs. Weasley had mentioned that they would be speaking to Dumbledore over his blunder with the Gryffindor Prefect position, perhaps...

Anubis turned to Kreacher, jaw clenched. 

"Where are they?"

* * *

 _"Honestly, Albus,"_ Mrs. Weasley was saying, obviously quite beside herself. _"I had hoped that you'd keep your end of the bargain. For a major transgression such as this to happen so close to the execution of the plan-"_

 _"You would do well to hold your tongue, Molly,"_ Came Dumbledore's voice and Hermione startled. _"Everything is under control."_

 _"Under control?"_ Mrs. Weasley shrieked. _"You said that Ron would be made Gryffindor Prefect! You also said that Harry would be practically begging to be with Ginny! How am I supposed to know whether all we've sacrificed has been worth it-"_

 _"Because I've said so,_ " said Dumbledore. _"The plan is proceeding as planned, though there have been some hiccups."_

Mrs. Weasley fell silent and Dumbledore continued. 

_"Ronald, your behavior with Harry these past few weeks is unacceptable. Continuing to instigate him is not your mandate. You have done well in steering him on to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. No doubt his cousin would've befriended him if he hadn't intervened. Now, your mandate is to keep him docile enough so that he's receptive to the plan to defeat Voldemort, and docile enough to make sure he doesn't figure out his parentage. The boy won't sacrifice himself if he knows it's to defeat his father."_

Hermione let out a little gasp and she turned scarlet with rage. 

_"The only reason we were fighting was because I was supposed to become Prefect! When he got it instead, I just-"_

_"Lost your temper?"_ Dumbledore volunteered in a cold voice. _"Jeopardized the entire mission for something as trivial as the position as Prefect?"_

Ron quieted.

 _"Albus,"_ started Mrs. Weasley, who's seemed to regain her courage. _"He meant no disrespect. He's just been looking forward to getting selected ever since Percy was and-"_

 _"That is no excuse for poor behavior in the line of duty."_ Came Dumbledore's voice. _"Harry has become too independent. His behavior at his trial proves that. I had to make him Prefect so he would trust me, especially after this summer's events. Either way, we must move up our timetable."_

There was silence for a few beats and Anubis contemplated pulling Hermione away, fearing that Dumbledore had become aware of their presence, before Mrs. Weasley spoke again. 

_"What would you have us do?"_ she asked in a timid voice. 

_"Get the boy under your thumb,"_ said Dumbledore. _"Make sure that he does not become as much of a threat as his father. If you fail, we will have to... make a martyr of him."_

Hermione's nails were digging into Anubis's arm and she had tears of fury in her eyes.

"You bastard, you evil bastard!" she whispered. "You awful, twisted, vicious-"

 _"And what about Hermione? What if she sides with Harry?"_ asked Ron. 

_"Accidents happen,"_ Dumbledore said and Anubis had half a mind to barge in the room and send a Cutting Curse toward the headmaster's throat. 

_"And what about me?"_ said Ginny, who'd been silent up until now. _"How will I marry Harry if he's dead?"_

Dumble chuckled. _"I'm surprised you didn't end up in Slytherin, Ginerva. Your conniving and underhanded ways know no bounds."_ he said. 

_"You haven't answered her question, Albus,"_ said Mrs. Weasley. _"How will she get to the Potter fortune with no legal way in?"_

 _"Of course there will be a way in,"_ said Dumbledore cheerfully. _"Ginny will be Harry's only beneficiary in the will he'd so conveniently written before his tragic and untimely demise."_ Dumbledore gave a very unconvincingly tearful sniff. _"Of course, he will have left it to her. They've been dating in secret for months, as he was afraid that she would become a target of the Dark Lord if she was known to be associated with him."_

 _"Brilliant, Albus,"_ Mrs. Weasley's spirits seemed to have been raised. _"We'll start dosing their rations immediately and I'll leave Ron and Ginny with instructions on how to dose them at Hogwarts."_

 _"Wonderful,"_ said Dumbledore. _"Then I guess our business is concluded."_ There was the sound of a scraping chair and Anubis and Hermione hurriedly wound up the Extendable Ears she'd nicked from Fred and George, careful to make sure that no one saw what they were doing. 

* * *

"That foul, lying, twisted old gargoyle!" stormed Hermione second later, as they made their way back to Anubis's room.

"I know."

"You see what he's up to? It's his thing to seem like the hero of the story!"

"I know."

"He's willing to put it aside for _you,_ of course-"

"Of course."

"-but he'll act like he guided you-"

"Naturally."

"-and end up taking all the credit anyway!"

Hermione was shaking with anger and Anubis knew he wasn't faring much better. She had sat down in a chair and was clenching the armrests with her hands so hard her knuckles were white. Anubis had too much fury flowing through him to sit still, and he aimed a kick toward his trunk. Hedwig jerked awake at the noise and gave an indignant hoot, sending him a reproachful look. 

No one said anything for a moment, as they were trying to decipher everything that had been said. In the end, it was Hermione that broke the silence.

"So, according to Dumbledore, my death will be a tragic accident?" Hermione asked, her voice quaking. 

"Murder, more like," said Anubis. He could feel himself shaking. "Dumbledore will kill you, he'll kill me, he'll kill anyone he wants as long as it wins him the war, and he gets all the credit."

Anubis felt shivery; his scar had a slight ache to it, he felt almost feverish. When he sat down opposite Hermione he caught sight of himself in the mirror opposite. He was very white, and his scar seemed to be showing up more clearly than usual. 

"Are you all right, Anubis?" Hermione whispered, looking concerned. 

"Yeah... fine... I dunno," said Anubis impatiently, wincing when he realized how harsh he sounded and another spark of pain went through his scar again. 

"It all makes perfect sense now," said Hermione. "Why else would he stick you with Muggles of all people? It was in the hopes that they would be able to stamp the magic out of you, make his life a bit easier... Anubis, are you sure you're all right?"

For Anubis had just run both his hands over his forehead as though trying to iron it. 

"Yeah... fine..." he said, lowering his hands, which were trembling. "I just feel a bit... overwhelmed, I guess."

"I expect anyone would feel shaky if they'd had their life turned upside down pithing a month," said Hermione sympathetically. "Look, let's get to bed. We'll have to leave early tomorrow to make the train and we'll still have to deal with Ron."

Anubis sighed. Sometimes he wished Hermione wouldn't make so much sense. 

"Fine then. Night, 'Mione."

"Goodnight, Anubis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read somewhere that in order to be a pureblood you have to have four magical grandparents and that's the logic i'll be using throughout the story ;) it may not pop up yet but it'll happen eventually


	4. Can a frog teach a class? Like, legally?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron attempts to make good with Hermione, the train to Hogwarts and their arrival at the castle holds some surprises.

Harry had a troubled night's sleep. His parents, both adopted and biological, wove in and out of his dreams, never speaking; Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Harry's dead body, which lacked a wedding band on his left hand, and yet again Harry found himself walking down a corridor ending in a locked door. He woke abruptly with his scar prickling to find Hermione already dressed and poking her head in his room. 

"... better hurry up, Mrs. Weasley's going ballistic, she says we're going to miss the train..."

There was a lot of commotion at Grimmauld Place. From what he heard as he dressed at top speed, Harry gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall. 

Harry had nearly fallen over laughing. 

Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices. 

"-COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS-"

"-FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-"

Hermione came hurrying into the room looking flustered just as Harry was putting on his shoes; Hedwig was swaying on her shoulder, and she was carrying a squirming Crookshanks in her arms. 

"Mum and Dad just sent Hedwig back" - the owl fluttered obligingly over and perched on the top of her cage - "are you ready yet?"

"Nearly - has Ron said anything?"

"Not yet," said Hermione. "But now Mad-Eye's complaining that we can't leave unless Sturgis Podmore's here, otherwise the guard will be one short."

"Guard?" said Harry. "We have to go to King's Cross with a guard?"

 _"You_ have to go to King's Cross with a guard," Hermione corrected him. 

"Why?" said Harry irritably. "I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he's going to jump out from behind a dustbin to try and do me in?"

"I don't know, it's just what Mad-Eye says," said Hermione distractedly, looking at her watch. "But if we don't leave soon we're definitely going to miss the train..."

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Hermione jumped as though scalded and hurried out of the room. Harry seized Hedwig, stuffed her unceremoniously into her cage, and set off downstairs after Hermione, dragging his trunk. 

Mrs. Black's portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again anyway. 

"Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks," shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeched of ' _MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!'_ "Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage... Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!"

A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side as Harry clambered over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley. 

"Oh honestly..." said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, "well, on your own head be it!"

She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind him and Mrs. Black's screeched were cut off instantly. 

"Where's Tonks?" Harry said, looking around as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement. 

"She's waiting for us op here," said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolling black dog beside Harry. 

An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled gray hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a porkpie. 

"Wotcher, Harry," she said, winking. "Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?" she added, checking her watch. 

"I know, I know," moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, "but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge wouldn't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... _How_ Muggles can stand traveling without magic..."

Harry snorted and struggled to keep his face impassive. 

But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gamboled around them, snapping at pigeons, and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way, making Harry shudder and turn back to Sirius. 

* * *

"Nice dog Harry!" called a tall boy with dreadlocks. 

"Thanks, Lee!" said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically. 

"Ooh good," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, "here's Alastor with the luggage, look..."

A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a cart full of their trunks. 

"All okay," he muttered too Mrs. Weasley and Tonks. "Don't think we were followed..."

Seconds later, a disgruntled looking Mr. Weasley emerged onto the platform with Ron and Hermione, who looked like they'd been a row on the way. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage cart when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin. 

"No trouble?" growled Moody.

"Nothing," said Lupin. 

"I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore," said Moody. "That's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus."

"Well, look after yourselves," said Remus, shaking hands all around. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder, a reassuring squeeze, and a wink. "You too, Harry. Be careful."

Harry grinned at him.

"Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled," said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. "And don't forget, all of you - careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny, and giving Harry a conspiratorial wink while ruffling his hair. "We'll see you soon, I expect."

A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurting onto the train.

"Quick, quick," said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice. "Write... Be good... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... Onto the train, now, hurry..."

For one brief moment, the great black dog reared up onto its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley pulled on its collar roughly and shoved Harry away toward the train hissing, "For heaven's sake act more like a dog, Sirius!"

"See you!" Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mrs. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, and then they turned the corner and Sirius was gone.

"He shouldn't have come with us," said Hermione in a worried voice. 

"Oh lighten up," said Harry, grinning, "he hasn't seen daylight for months."

"Well," said Fred, clapping his hands together, "Can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later," and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right. 

The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past and they swayed where they stood. 

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" Ron asked, turning to Harry and Hermione. 

Harry looked to Hermione, who was looking at Ron with something akin to stony indifference. 

"Actually, Harry and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," said Hermione sharply, flashing white teeth as she grinned. 

Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand, which was probably a good idea as Harry was too busy snickering into his hand to keep a straight face. 

"Oh," said Ron sullenly. "Right. Fine."

"Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine," said Ron again. "Well, I-I might see you later, then."

"Maybe," said Hermione, still speaking in a stony voice. "We might have to stay there all journey, it just depends on what they tell us."

Harry snorted and had to busy himself with Hedwig's cage lest he burst out laughing in Ron's face. 

Ron muttered something under his breath and looked like he was going to say something unsavory when Ginny appeared at his side. 

"Come on," Ginny told him, "if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places."

"Right," said Ron, picking up the handle of his trunk. They struggled off down the corridor and when they were finally out of sight, Harry let out the laugh he'd been struggling to keep quiet. 

"Man, Hermione," said Harry, wiping tears from his eyes. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

As Hermione and Harry dragged their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Hedwig off toward the engine end of the train, Hermione sent him a smile. 

"You should've heard him on the way here, Harry. I could hardly stop myself from jinxing him on the spot."

"You should've." Harry cursed as his trunk hit a snag in the carpet. "Would've saved us a lot of trouble in the long run."

"Yeah, probably." Hermione sighed. "Mr. Weasley was there, though."

"Ah, a witness."

"Unfortunately."

They lapsed into comfortable silence and Harry couldn't help but see all of the stares he was getting. Of course, he was used to getting attention; as the Boy Who Lived, he'd been getting stares since he was eleven. But he was now in his fifth year and the novelty of meeting Harry Potter had long since worn off for many of his peers. 

So why the continued attention?

Still feeling as though every move he made was being watched, Harry held his head high and trudged along. Hermione looked vaguely uncomfortably too, though you could only tell if you'd known her as long as Harry has. She was doing a remarkable job of keeping a straight face, though she didn't hold back the glares she sent to those who were a little too rude in their ogling. 

Eventually, they reached the last car on the train and Hermione knocked on the door. 

"Those complete _cows_ ," said Hermione viciously. "I know they're not exactly fond of Dumbledore right now but the least they could do is not make a scene..."

The door opened as Hermione was in the middle of her sentence and an unimpressed Ravenclaw seventh-year stood in the doorway

"The door was open," she said, moving aside. Harry and Hermione squeezed through the doorway, mumbling their apologies. Looking around the room, Harry realized that the prefects from every other House were already seated and were looking at them as though they were an inconvenience. 

Setting their trunks aside, Harry and Hermione walked to their spots. There was what looked like scarves on their seats, colored dark crimson with gold trim. They took them and sat down. Harry tried to make it seem as though he wasn't uncomfortable. 

"Alright, as I was saying," said the Ravenclaw girl, giving Harry and Hermione a pointed look. Hermione shrunk down in her seat. "My name is Lila Inkwood, I'll be the Head Girl for this year. This is Chase Silverling-" she gestured to a seventh-year Hufflepuff, "-he'll be your Head Boy for the remainder of the year." She took a deep breath. 

"You're here because Headmaster Dumbledore sees each and every one of you as fit to perform the duties of a Hogwarts prefect. Every one of you is a fifth-year, so we're not going to waste time with introductions. Just know that you are expected to set an example for the rest of the students at Hogwarts. In addition to the regular rules for Hogwarts students, you are now going to patrol the hallways after curfew to catch students out of bed. Either Chase or myself will let you know when you are expected for duty.

"Right now, though, you're supposed to patrol the corridors of the train every so often. You can give out punishments if people are misbehaving and you can answer questions to the best of your abilities. Are there any questions?" She looked around the room and, when no one raised their hand, took another deep breath, and smiled, the first that Harry had seen since he'd met her. 

"Congratulations on being chosen as prefects. I'm sure each and every one of you will live up to the expectations of your House and the expectations of Hogwarts." said Lila, a bright smile making her brown eyes crinkle at the edges. "Now, Chase and I will step out to begin our patrol. In the meantime, speak amongst yourselves to decide who will take the first watch."

Lila and Chase left and not a second later, the blond Slytherin prefect spoke up. 

"I should've known," Draco Malfoy said with a sneer. "Who else would Dumbledore pick if not the Golden Boy? Surely not Weasley."

"I doubt it," said Pansy Parkinson from Draco's right. "He can barely tell which is the front end of his wand."

The prefects for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw looked at each other nervously. They stood up in unison as though the entire thing was choreographed. 

"We'll just start our rounds then," said Ernie Macmillan, one of the prefects for Hufflepuff while edging toward the door. They filed out, all four of them, and Harry and Hermione were left in the same compartment as Draco and Pansy. 

"Not too quick to defend the Weasel, are you?"

"Not anymore," said Harry, looking right at Draco, whose cold gray eyes widened with something akin to surprise. 

"And why not?" said Pansy. "Had a bit of a falling out, did you?"

"Something like that," said Harry cryptically, staring at Draco, who had stayed silent. "Let's just say that I've finally realized that some wizarding families are better than others and I don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

Pansy and Hermione hadn't been there when Draco had first introduced himself to Harry; the only other people there had been Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle. Of course, they still had somewhat similar reactions. Pansy's eyebrows lifted up into her hairline and Hermione's mouth fell open into a small O. 

Draco Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father's, didn't show any reaction, but he looked at Harry as though calculating his truthfulness. 

"Careful, Potter," he said slowly. "That sounded almost polite."

"And if it was?" said Harry, more bravely than he felt because this was the first time he was talking to his cousin - _his cousin_ \- since learning his true identity. 

"Then I might think you've gone mad."

"It's part of my charm," said Harry smiling. Hermione gave a slight cough, which might've been hiding a giggle.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched and Harry knew this was his chance. He held out his hand to shake Draco's and waited. 

The scion of the Malfoy family looked at Harry's hand, then up at Harry. An emotion Harry couldn't identify flashed across his face and before he knew it, Draco was stepping forward and was gripping his hand with his own. 

Harry couldn't stop the grin that split his face. 

* * *

Harry and Hermione didn't bother trying to find the Weasleys until after Draco had introduced them to some of his Housemates. After admitting that they couldn't speak on the train - there were too many eyes and ears for them to have a private conversation, they'd agreed that Harry would travel with the Slytherins on the way to the castle and Hermione would ride with the Weasleys.

"I don't understand why _I've_ got to be the one to ride with Ron," said Hermione while they lugged their things down the train. 

"You're the only one they won't suspect, Hermione. How weird would it look if _you_ went to hang out with the Slytherins?" said Harry while he pointedly ignored all the stares they were getting. 

"I know, I know," said Hermione sullenly. 

The train rattled onward, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously gray clouds. 

Harry and Hermione found the compartment the Weasleys were in after nearly 15 minutes of searching. Ron, Ginny, and Neville Longbottom were swapping Chocolate Frog cards when Harry slid the compartment door open and he and Hermione walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Hedwig in her cage. 

"I'm starving," said Harry, stowing Hedwig next to Pigwidgeon, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Ron and throwing himself into the seat next to him. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the Frog's head, and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning. 

"well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House," said Hermione, making a show of looking thoroughly disgruntled as she took her seat. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" said Harry, regretting that his eyes were closed and he couldn't see Ron's reaction. 

"Malfoy," Ron replied at once. 

"'Course," said Harry bitterly, finally opening his eyes and looking around the room. There was a girl beside the window with straggly, waist-length, dirty-blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside down. Her eyes ranged over Hermione and came to rest on Harry, watching them over her upside-down magazine, which was called _The Quibbler._ She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her and now wished he had not. 

" _You're_ Harry Potter," she said. 

"I know I am," said Harry. "Who are you?"

"Luna Lovegood. My father is the editor of _The Quibbler._ " the girl said, holding out her hand for him to shake.

"Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw," said Ginny, giving Harry an odd look as he shook Luna's hand. 

_"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,"_ said Luna in a singsong voice. 

She raised her upside-down magazine high enough to hide her face and fell silent. Harry and Hermione looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. 

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Ron asked. 

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said Harry through a mouthful of Chocolate Frog. 

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said Hermione. 

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil," said a vague voice. 

Everyone turned to look at Luna Lovegood, who was gazing unblinkingly at Ron over the top of _The Q_ _uibbler._

"Yeah, I know I did," he said, looking mildly surprised. 

"She didn't enjoy it very much," Luna informed him. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded," she added thoughtfully, "I don't like dancing very much."

She retreated behind _The Quibbler_ again. Ron stared at the cover with his mouth hanging open for a few seconds, then looked around at Ginny for some kind of explanation, but Ginny had stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself giggling. Ron shook his head, then looked at Harry, who was checking his watch. 

"we're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," he told Ron and Neville, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something..."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Harry!" said Hermione sharply, having to raise her voice above Ron's guffawing. 

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all," said Harry sarcastically, sending Hermione a wink so she wouldn't think he was serious. She shook her head and looked up at the sky as though asking the gods for strength. 

"I'd make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," said Ron. He lowered his voice to Goyle's low grunt and, screwing up his face in a look of pained concentration, mimed writing in midair. _"I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's... backside..."_

Everybody laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. She laughed so hard that her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.

“That was _funny_!”

Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron’s face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backward and forward, clutching her sides.

“Are you taking the mickey?” said Ron, frowning at her.

“Baboon’s... backside!” she choked, holding her ribs.

Everyone else was watching Luna laughing, but Harry, glancing at the magazine on the floor, noticed something that made him dive for it. Upside down it had been hard to tell what the picture on the front was, but Harry now realized it was a fairly bad cartoon of Cornelius Fudge; Harry only recognized him because of the lime-green bowler hat. One of Fudge’s hands was clenched around a bag of gold; the other hand was throttling a goblin. The cartoon was captioned: 'How Far Will Fudge Go to Gain Gringotts?'

Beneath this were listed the titles of other articles inside the magazine.

**CORRUPTION IN THE QUIDDITCH LEAGUE: How the Tornados Are Taking Control**

**SECRETS OF THE ANCIENT RUNES REVEALED**

**SIRIUS BLACK: Villain or Victim?**

“Can I have a look at this?” Harry asked Luna eagerly. She nodded, still gazing at Ron, breathless with laughter.

Harry opened the magazine and scanned the index; until this moment he had completely forgotten the magazine Kingsley had handed Mr. Weasley to give to Sirius, but it must have been this edition of The Quibbler. He found the page and turned excitedly to the article.

This too was illustrated by a rather bad cartoon; in fact, Harry would not have known it was supposed to be Sirius if it hadn’t been captioned. Sirius was standing on a pile of human bones with his wand out. The headline on the article read:

**SIRIUS - Black As He’s Painted?**   
**Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?**

Harry had to read this sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation?

* * *

“Anything good in there?” asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.

“Of course not,” said Ginny scathingly, before Harry could answer, “ _The Quibbler’s_ rubbish, everyone knows that.”

Harry stiffened and his eyes immediately snapped to Luna.

“Excuse me,” she said; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. “My father’s the editor.”

“I - oh,” said Ginny, looking embarrassed. “Well... it’s got some interesting... I mean, it’s quite...”

“I’ll have it back, thank you,” said Luna coldly, and leaning forward she snatched it out of Harry’s hands. Rifling through it to page fifty-seven, she turned it resolutely upside down again and disappeared behind it, just as the compartment door opened.

Harry looked around; he hadn't expected this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at them from between his friends Crabbe and Goyle any less enjoyable.

"What?" Ron said aggressively, before Draco could open his mouth.

"Manners, Weasley, or I'll have to give you detention," drawled Draco. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah," said Ginny, "but you, unlike him, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron and Neville laughed. Malfoy's lip curled. 

"Tell me, Weasleys," he said and Harry immediately knew he was going to say something scathing. "How does it feel to be second best to Granger and Potter?"

"Shut up Malfoy," said Ginny sharply, her face as red as her hair and Ron stood up. 

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Draco, smirking. "Well, just watch yourself, Weasley, because you're no _riddle_. It won't be hard to find out if you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Ginny, standing up. 

Sniggering, Draco gave Harry a last conspiratorial look and departed, Crabbe and Goyle following. Ginny slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Harry, who knew at once that she, like him, had registered what Malfoy had said. They turned to look at Ron and Ginny, who looked as though they'd be sick. 

Harry could not speak freely in front of Neville and Luna. Ron and Ginny looked at each other nervously and went back to exchanging Chocolate frog cards. Harry exchanged another look with Hermione and then stared out of the window.

The weather remained undecided as they traveled farther and farther north. Rain spattered the windows in a halfhearted way, then the sun put in a feeble appearance before clouds drifted over it once more. When darkness fell and lamps came on inside the carriages, Luna rolled up _The Quibbler_ , put it carefully away in her bag, and took to staring at everyone in the compartment instead.

Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, trying to get a first distant glimpse of Hogwarts, but it was a moonless night and the rain-streaked window was grimy.

“We’d better change,” said Hermione at last. She and Harry made a show of pinning their prefect badges to the front of their robes. Harry saw Ron looking at them jealously. 

At last the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. Harry and Hermione were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again, leaving Luna and the others to look after Crookshanks and Hedwig.

“I’ll carry that owl, if you like,” said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Hedwig as Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket.

“Oh, thanks,” said Harry, handing her the cage and giving her a grateful smile. Ginny saw this and her attitude immediately changed, becoming aloof and almost angry. 

He and Hermione shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly they moved toward the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down onto the platform and looked around, listening for the familiar call of “Firs’ years over here... firs’ years...”

But it did not come. Instead a quite different voice, a brisk female one, was calling, “First years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!”

A lantern came swinging toward Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year.

“Where’s Hagrid?” he said out loud.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, “but we’d better get out of the way, we’re blocking the door.”

“Oh yeah...”

Hermione dug her fingers into Harry's robes to avoid being separated as they moved off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Hagrid; he had to be here, Harry had been relying on it - seeing Hagrid again had been one of the things to which he had been looking forward most. But there was no sign of him at all.

 _He can’t have left_ , Harry told himself as he shuffled slowly through a narrow doorway onto the road outside with the rest of the crowd. _He’s just got a cold or something..._

He looked at Hermione, wanting to know what she thought about the reappearance of Professor Grubbly-Plank, but neither of them could hear the other over the noise of the crowd, so he allowed himself to be shunted forward onto the dark rain-washed road outside Hogsmeade station. He and Hermione quickly stood an elevated platform and started directing the first years toward Professor Grubbly-Plank and everyone else, mainly the second years, toward the carriages. 

Here stood the hundred or so horseless stagecoaches that always took the students above their first year up to the castle. Harry glanced quickly at them, turned away to keep a lookout for Hermione, then did a double-take.

The coaches were no longer horseless. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts; if he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither - vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. Harry could not understand why the coaches were being pulled by these horrible horses when they were quite capable of moving along by themselves.

“Where’s Weasley?” said Draco's voice, right behind Harry.

“They're both looking for an open carriage,” said Harry, turning quickly, eager to consult Draco about Hagrid. “Where d’you reckon-”

“-Hagrid is? I dunno,” said Draco, sounding disinterested. Pansy was next to him and behind her was Crabbe and Goyle, standing intimidatingly next to an empty carriage. 

Seconds later Hermione turned to them, having just directed a group of timid-looking first years toward Professor Grubbly-Plank.

“Where’s Crookshanks?”

“Ginny’s got him,” said Harry. “There she is...”

Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks.

“Thanks,” said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. “Come on, let’s get a carriage together before they all fill up...”

“I haven’t got Hedwig yet!” Harry said, but Hermione was already heading off toward the nearest unoccupied coach. Harry remained behind with Draco.

“What are those things, d’you reckon?” he asked Draco, nodding at the horrible horses as the other students surged past them.

“What things?”

“Those horse —”

Luna appeared holding Hedwig's cage in her arms; the snowy owl was twittering excitedly.

“Here you are,” she said. “She's a sweet little owl, isn’t she?”

“She has her moments,” said Harry teasingly as Hedwig hooted irritably. “Well, come on then, let’s get in..."

Luna walked ahead without another word and Harry and the Slytherins backed away so they could enter the carriage Crabbe and Goyle were holding. 

"What were you saying, Harry?” asked Pansy.

“I was saying, what are those horse things?” Harry said, as he, Draco, and Pansy made for the carriage in which Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass were already sitting.

“What horse things?”

“The horse things pulling the carriages!” said Harry impatiently; they were, after all, about three feet from the nearest one; it was watching them with empty white eyes. Draco, however, gave Harry a perplexed look.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about - look!” 

Harry grabbed Draco's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face-to-face with the winged horse. Draco stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“At the - there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It’s right there in front-”

But as Draco continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.

“Can’t... can’t you see them?” 

“See what?” 

“Can’t you see what’s pulling the carriages?”

Pansy looked seriously alarmed now.

“Are you feeling all right, Harry?”

“I... yeah...”

Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapor rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet unless Draco was faking - and it was a very feeble joke if he was - Draco could not see it at all.

“Shall we get in, then?” said Draco uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah, go on...”

“It’s all right,” said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Draco vanished into the coach’s dark interior. “You’re not going mad or anything. I can see them too.”

“Can you?” said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide, silvery eyes.

“Oh yes,” said Luna, “I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry. You’re just as sane as I am.”

Smiling faintly, she turned and climbed into the carriage about ten paces away. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed Draco.

* * *

Harry did not want to tell the Slytherins that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window. 

“Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?” asked Daphne. “What’s she doing back here? Hagrid can’t have left, can he?”

“I’ll be quite glad if he has,” said Draco. “He isn’t a very good teacher, is he?”

“Yes, he is!” said Harry and Daphne angrily. They looked at each other, surprised, before turning away, embarrassed. Harry cleared his throat and slipped a finger into his collar to loosen it while Daphne tucked a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. 

Pansy looked between the two of them mischievously. 

“Well, I think he’s a bit of a joke,” said Draco, unfazed.

“Your rubbish sense of humor hasn't changed then,” Harry snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion.

Draco did not seem perturbed by Harry's rudeness; on the contrary, he simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television program. 

Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forward to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid’s cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet-black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them.

"So?" 

Harry turned to Draco. "What?"

"What d'you mean 'what'?" said Pansy, impatience creeping into her tone. "You said you wanted to speak."

"Oh, right," said Harry, tearing his gaze from the castle. "I'm not Harry Potter."

Silence greeted him. 

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" asked Pansy, reaching for him as though to check his temperature. 

"I feel fine," Harry said, batting her hand away. "And I'm telling the truth."

"Must've gone mad spending all summer with Muggles. I know _I_ would," said Theodore, looking at Harry like he was an escaped mental patient. 

"Well, I might as well just show you," said Harry, moving to take off the signet ring on the pinky finger of his right hand. 

"Wait!" yelled Draco, and Daphne started. "Is that...?"

"Yup," said Harry. 

"How did you get that?" asked Pansy, grabbing his hand and bringing it closer to his face. She inspected the ring as though trying to determine its authenticity. "You're not a Black, every inheritance ring is bewitched to change the crest if the person wearing it doesn't have..." She trailed off and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. 

"Bloody hell," Theodore said, leaning forward to inspect the ring, then looking back up at Harry. "You _are_ a Black."

"But that's impossible!" said Daphne, looking around the carriage for an explanation. "You and Draco would be related!"

"Well, they are," Blaise said. "Distantly, though, and not by blood. Your great-great aunt joined the Potter family by marrying Charlus Potter," he added, pointing to Draco, "who is _your_ great-great uncle," he finished, pointing to Harry. "He was cousins with Fleamont Potter, your grandfather."

Harry was trying his best not to look too astonished. "How d'you know all that?" he asked Blaise, who rolled his eyes. 

"Honestly, Potter, you'd thought that after all these years being friends with someone as sharp as Granger, you'd be used to it by now."

"All purebloods study up on the family trees of other families," said Daphne, having noticed Harry's confusion. "Your name is your power and it's a bit daft not to try and use it."

"But that still doesn't explain the ring," Pansy said. "The crest would've changed since he's not a Black by blood, just by marriage."

"That's true," Blaise said. 

"Well, why hasn't it changed, then?" asked Daphne, looking far more patient than Pansy. 

"Because he _is_ a Black by blood," said Draco, lifting his head and looking Harry right in the eye. "You're my Aunt Bella's son, aren't you?"

Silence greeted his statement and Harry smiled dryly. 

"Full marks, Malfoy," said Harry. "You've got it right on the nose."

The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by the forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid’s cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming.

Harry had once before had the experience of seeing something that other people could not, but that had been a reflection in a mirror, something much more insubstantial than a hundred very solid-looking beasts strong enough to pull a fleet of carriages. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible; why, then, could Harry suddenly see them, and why could no one else?

Harry turned back to the carriage and saw that the Slytherins were still in their seats, appropriately gobsmacked. He smiled. 

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together. "It's been fun. Really, it has. If you have any questions, send me an owl and we'll meet up at some point."

"Oi, Harry!" Ron's voice came from the other side of the carriage line and Harry winced. 

"That's my cue," he said, backing away. "I'll see you later, dear cousin."

He left without saying anything else, running to where Ron and Hermione were and quickly steering them away from the Slytherin carriage. 

"Where'd you go?" said Ron, craning his neck to try and see who was in the carriage Harry had just left. 

"Just a bunch of third-years, mate," said Harry, throwing his arm around Ron and Hermione's shoulders. "Are you coming or what?"

"Yeah," said Ron distractedly, and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. 

The entrance hall was ablaze with torched and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. 

The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another’s new haircuts and robes. Again Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared.

Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor’s, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: He was looking over the students’ heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall.

“He’s not there.”

Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid’s size made him instantly obvious in any lineup.

“Who?" asked Ron. Hermione and Harry turned to look at him incredulously. 

"Ronald!" said Hermione, making a movement that made gave Harry the impression that she's kicked Ron underneath the table. "I told you Hagrid was missing on the ride here!"

"Oh," said Ron, blinking at them. "Must've missed that part."

"He can't have left," said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

“Of course he hasn’t,” said Harry firmly.

“You don’t think he’s... hurt, or anything, do you?” said Hermione uneasily. 

“No,” said Harry at once.

“But where is he, then?”

There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati, and Lavender could not hear, “Maybe he’s not back yet. You know - from his mission - the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.”

“Yeah... yeah, that’ll be it,” said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid’s absence.

“Who’s that?” she said sharply, pointing toward the middle of the staff table.

Harry’s eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the center of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore’s head was inclined toward the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody’s maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

“It’s that Umbridge woman!”

“Who?” said Hermione.

“She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!”

“Nice cardigan,” said Ron, smirking.

“She works for Fudge?” Hermione repeated, frowning. “What on earth’s she doing here, then?”

“Dunno...” said Ron, looking around the table ruefully as though he wished there was food on it already. 

Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed.

“No,” she muttered, “no, surely not . . .”

Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had just been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid’s. That meant that the first years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the entrance hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard’s hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.

The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back.

The first years’ faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which House he belonged. And when he had been chosen for Slytherin, he'd ardently refused and the Hat had put him in Gryffindor per his request. 

A bad choice, now that he looked back on it. 

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat’s brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:

 _In times of old when I was new_  
 _And Hogwarts barely started_  
 _The founders of our noble school  
_ _Thought never to be parted:_  
 _United by a common goal,_  
 _They had the selfsame yearning,_  
 _To make the world’s best magic school  
And pass along their learning.  
“Together we will build and teach!”  
The four good friends decided  
_ _And never did they dream that they  
Might someday be divided,_  
 _For were there such friends anywhere  
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
_ _Unless it was the second pair  
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?  
_ _So how could it have gone so wrong?  
_ _How could such friendships fail?  
_ _Why, I was there and so can tell  
_ _The whole sad, sorry tale.  
_ _Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those  
Whose ancestry is purest.”  
_ _Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose  
Intelligence is surest.”  
_ _Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those  
_ _With brave deeds to their name,”  
Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot,  
And treat them just the same.”  
_ _These differences caused little strife  
When first they came to light,  
_ _For each of the four founders had  
A House in which they might  
Take only those they wanted, so,  
For instance, Slytherin  
_ _Took only pure-blood wizards  
_ _Of great cunning, just like him,  
And only those of sharpest mind  
Were taught by Ravenclaw  
_ _While the bravest and the boldest  
Went to daring Gryffindor.  
_ _Good Hufflepujf she took the rest,  
And taught them all she knew,  
Thus the Houses and their founders  
Retained friendships firm and true.  
So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
For several happy years,  
_ _But then discord crept among us  
Feeding on our faults and fears.  
_ _The Houses that, like pillars four,  
Had once held up our school,  
Now turned upon each other and,  
Divided, sought to rule.  
_ _And for a while it seemed the school  
Must meet an early end,  
_ _What with dueling and with fighting  
And the clash of friend on friend  
And at last there came a morning  
When old Slytherin departed  
_ _And though the fighting then died out  
He left us quite downhearted.  
_ _And never since the founders four  
Were whittled down to three  
_ _Have the Houses been united  
_ _As they once were meant to be.  
_ _And now the Sorting Hat is here  
_ _And you all know the score:  
_ _I sort you into Houses  
_ _Because that is what I’m for,  
_ _But this year I’ll go further,  
_ _Listen closely to my song:  
_ _Though condemned I am to split you  
Still I worry that it’s wrong,  
_ _Though I must fulfill my duty  
_ _And must quarter every year  
_ _Still I wonder whether sorting  
_ _May not bring the end I fear.  
_ _Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
The warning history shows,  
_ _For our Hogwarts is in danger  
_ _From internal, deadly foes  
_ _And we must unite inside her  
_ _Or we’ll crumble from within._  
 _I have told you, I have warned you._  
Let the Sorting now begin.

The hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry’s memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbors and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.

“Branched out a bit this year, hasn’t it?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

“Too right it has,” said Harry.

The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts Houses and its own role in sorting them; Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before.

“I wonder if it’s ever given warnings before?” said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

“Yes, indeed,” said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville toward her (Neville winced, it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). “The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels-”

But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first years’ names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the four House tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out,

“Abercrombie, Euan.”

The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forward and put the hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor House as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again.

Slowly the long line of first years thinned; in the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat’s decisions, Harry could hear Ron’s stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, “Zeller, Rose” was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all, whatever his recent bitter feelings toward his headmaster. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast.

“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate - for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice.

“Excellent,” said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them onto his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick.

“What were you saying before the Sorting?” Hermione asked the ghost. “About the hat giving warnings?”

“Oh yes,” said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with indecent enthusiasm. “Yes, I have heard the hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: Stand together, be strong from within.”

“Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?” said Ron.

His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.

“I beg your pardon?” said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, “How can it know if the school’s in danger if it’s a hat?”

“I have no idea,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “Of course, it lives in Dumbledore’s office, so I daresay it picks things up there.”

“And it wants all the Houses to be friends?” said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. “Fat chance.”

“Well, now, you shouldn’t take that attitude,” said Nick reprovingly. “Peaceful cooperation, that’s the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate Houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.”

“Only because you’re terrified of him,” said Ron.

Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.

“Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins-”

“What blood?” asked Ron. “Surely you haven’t still got-?”

“It’s a figure of speech!” said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. “I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!”

“Nick, he wasn’t really laughing at you!” said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron.

Unfortunately, Ron’s mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was “node iddum eentup sechew,” which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis.

“Well done, Ron,” snapped Hermione.

“What?” said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. “I’m not allowed to ask a simple question?”

“Oh forget it,” said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence.

Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak-and-kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favorite treacle tart.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft...

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.” (Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged smirks.)

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door.

“We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause during which Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching.

Dumbledore continued, “Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —”

He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said, _“Hem, hem,”_ and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout’s eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall’s mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.”

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ( _“Hem, hem”_ ) and continued: “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”

Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy; on the contrary, they all looked rather taken aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”

Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins.

“I’ll be her friend as long as I don’t have to borrow that cardigan,” Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ( _“Hem, hem”_ ), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall’s dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little _“Hem, hem”_ and went on with her speech.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...”

Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out _The Quibbler_ again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest.

Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have plowed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste.

“...because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” he said, bowing to her. “Now - as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held...”

“Yes, it certainly was illuminating,” said Hermione in a low voice.

“You’re not telling me you enjoyed it?” Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face upon Hermione. “That was about the dullest speech I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.”

“I said illuminating, not enjoyable,” said Hermione. “It explained a lot.”

“Did it?” said Ron in surprise. “Sounded like a load of waffle to me.”

“There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,” said Hermione grimly.

“Was there?” said Ron blankly.

“How about ‘progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged’? How about ‘pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited’?”

“Well, what does that mean?” said Ron impatiently.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” said Hermione ominously. “It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

“Harry, we’re supposed to show the first years where to go!”

"Oh yeah," said Harry, who had forgotten about being prefect in the shock of Umbridge being made their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He stood up. "First years over here!"

"First years!" Hermione called commandingly along the table. "This way, please!"

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified, nudged Euan, and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face.

Hermione sent him a sympathetic look. 

The Gryffindor first years followed them through the chattering crowds out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry and Hermione exchanged amused looks as the first-years let out surprised gasps at the people in the portraits along the corridors, who were whispering and pointing as Harry passed. They climbed more staircases, leading them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

The first years were practically dragging their feet now and Hermione must've taken pity on them because she broke off from the main group to show them a shortcut that took them to the common room faster.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, feeling as though they were being watched. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Harry took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him. He hastily threw up a large shield, prompting all of the first years to gasp and instinctively duck. 

"Peeves," Harry whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves - show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. 

"Do you want me to go get the Bloody Baron?" 

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. 

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" 

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked. 

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Hermione, who had taken out her wand and sent a firecracker into the air. 

"Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Euan's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed. 

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Harry, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink dress. 

"Password?" she said. 

Harry smirked, thinking of Neville and his peculiar plant. _"Mimbulus mimbletonia."_

"Correct," said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open toward them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Hermione led the first years through. 

"Follow, everyone! Gather 'round here, please!" Hermione said as they reached the common room. 

The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cozy circular tower room full of dilapidates squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the notice board. Harry waved to them as they headed to the boys' dormitories. 

"Welcome to the Gryffindor common room!" said Hermione, smiling widely. "Boys' dormitories are up the stairs and down to your left. Girls, the same on your right. You'll find all of your belongings, including your trunks and pets, have already been brought up."

She paused and looked out over the sea of children, smiling as she saw their sleepy faces. 

"Congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor. If you have any questions, feel free to ask either myself or Harry, or any other prefect you come across. It's our job to help you, so please don't hesitate." 

A hand shot up in the crowd. 

"What about the Slytherin prefects?" asked a girl with blonde hair and brown eyes. 

"Yeah, can we ask them if we need to?" said a timid-looking boy with watery blue eyes. 

"Of course you can," said Harry, stunned that the first years were already so bigoted against the Slytherins before remembering that he was the same way at their age. "They'll help you if you ask them."

"And if they don't, tell us. We'll be sure to give them a piece of our minds," said Hermione, smiling at the giggles that swept through the crowd. "Well, that's all we have for you today. Do you have any other questions?"

A shaking hand emerged from the crowd. 

"Yes, you in the back," said Harry, pointing to the hand. It belonged to a girl with a square jaw and large green eyes. 

"Are you really Harry Potter?"

And just like that, all the eyes in the room were turned to him. Great. 

"Er..." Harry started, looking to Hermione nervously. "Yeah, I am."

"Oh," said the girl who'd asked, lowering her hand with something of a nervous air. "Okay. I was just wondering, thank you."

"No problem," said Harry just as nervously, his ears starting to heat up. "Well, if that is all the questions you have for us, you can head up to your dormitories now."

The first years stumbled past them, mumbling their goodnights and rubbing at their eyes. Soon it was only Harry and Hermione in the common room. 

"Well, I think that went well," said Hermione, clapping her hands together once before leading him up the stairs. 

"Yeah, if you don't count how everyone was talking about me behind my back," said Harry bitterly. 

"Harry-"

"No, Hermione, you didn't see how Euan and his friends looked at me," Harry said, wringing his hands together. "It looked like they thought I was going to _hurt_ them. And don't even get me started on Brown and Patil-"

"I know, Harry, I know," Hermione looked just as tired as he did and Harry was reminded that she'd had to ride with Ron up to the castle. "Look, you've made it through the first day. Tomorrow there'll be classes, so you'll have something to take your mind off of everything."

Harry groaned. "Only you would try and get me to cheer up with homework."

Hermione laughed, a bright sound that lightened Harry's mood a bit. "Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night, 'Mione."

But as Harry walked up the stairs, his mood soured. 

He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily, as he walked through much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him: He had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months ago clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before everyone went home, even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid.

“Hi,” he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

“Hey, Harry,” said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pajamas in the West Ham colors. “Good holiday?”

“Not bad,” muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. “You?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” chuckled Dean. “Better than Seamus’s anyway, he was just telling me.”

“Why, what happened, Seamus?” Neville Longbottom asked as he placed his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ tenderly on his bedside cabinet.

Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, “Me mam didn’t want me to come back.”

“What?” said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.

“She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.” 

Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pajamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry.

“But — why?” said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus’s mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursley-ish.

Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pajamas. “Well,” he said in a measured voice, “I suppose... because of you.”

“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly. His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him. When people had started whispering about him, he'd assumed that all of the Gryffindors would stand beside him, as they'd done during the Triwizard Tournament. He'd only really expected the Slytherins to come after him and after his conversation with Draco, he doubted that would happen at all. 

“Well,” said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry’s eyes, “she... er... well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore too...”

“She believes the Daily Prophet?” said Harry. “She thinks I’m a liar?”

Seamus looked up at him. “Yeah, something like that.”

Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down onto his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk, and pulled on his pajamas. He was sick of it; sick of being the person who was stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to... Mrs. Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely.

He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, “Look... what did happen that night when... you know, when... with Cedric Diggory and all?”

Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk, trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard.

The smart thing would've been to calmly explain what happened to Dean before he could speak to the rest of their Housemates and convince them that Harry was an insane liar. The smart thing would've been to wait until Harry wasn't as angry to have this conversation. 

Harry, apparently, was not smart. 

“What are you asking me for?” Harry said without thinking. “Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don’t you? That’ll tell you all you need to know.”

“Don’t you have a go at my mother,” snapped Seamus. 

“I’ll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,” said Harry.

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“I’ll talk to you how I want,” said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. “If you’ve got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved, stop your mummy worrying-”

“Leave my mother out of this, Potter!”

“What’s going on?”

Ron had appeared in the doorway. His wide eyes traveled from Harry, who had stood up with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised.

“He’s having a go at my mother!” Seamus yelled.

“What?” said Ron. “Harry wouldn’t do that - we met your mother, we liked her...”

“That’s before she started believing every damn word the _Daily Prophet_ writes about me!” said Harry at the top of his voice.

“Oh,” said Ron, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. “Oh... right.”

“You know what?” said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. “He’s right, I don’t want to share a dormitory with him anymore, he’s a madman.”

“That’s out of order, Seamus,” said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red, always a danger sign.

“Out of order, am I?” shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron was turning paler. “You believe all the rubbish he’s come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I do!” said Ron angrily.

“Then you’re mad too,” said Seamus in disgust.

"Maybe I am mad," said Harry, stalking forward just as Seamus started stepping back. "But unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a prefect!" he added, jabbing a finger in Seamus' direction. "So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!”

Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt, he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed, and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Harry glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville.

“Anyone else got a problem?” he said aggressively.

“My parents are Muggles, mate,” said Dean, shrugging. “They don’t know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I’m not _stupid_ enough to tell them.”

“You don’t know my mother, she’ll weasel anything out of anyone!” Seamus snapped at him. “Anyway, your parents don’t get the Daily Prophet, they don’t know our headmaster’s been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he’s losing his marbles-”

“My gran says that’s rubbish,” piped up Neville. “She says it’s the Daily Prophet that’s going downhill, not Dumbledore. She’s canceled our subscription. We believe Harry,” he said simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. “My gran’s always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Harry Potter says he’s back, he’s back.”

Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings, and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over, and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus.

Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He felt shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying or unhinged?

Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all, at least from Dumbledore's perspective; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider Wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was too or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked...

 _They’ll know I'm right in the end_ , thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many attacks like Seamus' he would have to endure before that time came. _They'll all know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup nerds. so school has started and I really only have time to write on the weekends, so expect an update every Monday. there'll definitely be one every week, I just wanted to give y'all a concrete date.


	5. Not very good, no.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco requests a meeting with his cousin and Harry successfully creates chaos in Umbridge's classroom with some support from the rest of his yearmates.
> 
> Also, let's pretend Harry has always been a dab hand at potions. Could be from Lily, which would explain why Snape doesn't hate him like he does in canon...

Seamus dressed at top speed the next morning and left the dormitory before Harry had even put on his socks.

“Does he think he’ll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?” asked Harry loudly, as the hem of Seamus’s robes whipped out of sight.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag onto his shoulder. “He’s just...” But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.

Neville and Ron both gave Harry _it’s-his-problem-not-yours_ looks, but Harry was not much consoled. How much more of this was he going to have to take?

While Harry was getting dressed, Ron was waiting for him by the stairway down to the common room. Harry didn't want to walk with him. Hell, he didn't even want to associate with him, especially after when Ron said about his parents. But it's not like he had a choice. There was nowhere for him to go should he try to avoid the Weasleys and Dumbledore.

Even if he broke off all contact with Ron, he still shared a dormitory with him. It would be all too easy for Ron to slip him a love potion while he was asleep, at least until Harry learned the proper protection charms. 

He'd established a temporary alliance with the Slytherins but he doubted they would be able to ferry him away without Dumbledore knowing. They were already under enough scrutiny by most of the school.

He'd have to bide his time, then. He just hoped that he and Hermione were able to catch all the love potion the Weasleys may or may not be putting in their drinks. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Hermione five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ronhalfway across the common room as they all headed toward breakfast. “You look absolutely - oh for heaven’s sake.”

She was staring at the common room notice board, where a large new sign had been put up.

 **GALLONS OF GALLEONS!**  
 **Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings?  
** **Like to earn a little extra gold?  
\-----  
** **Contact Fred and George Weasley,  
** **Gryffindor common room,**  
 **for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs**  
 **(WE REGRET THAT ALL WORK IS UNDERTAKEN AT APPLICANT’S OWN RISK)**

“They are the limit,” said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. “We’ll have to talk to them, Harry.”

“Why?” asked Harry. He was the one that had given them the money to start their joke shop; he couldn't just ask them to stop. 

“Because we’re prefects!” said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. “It’s up to us to stop this kind of thing!”

Harry said nothing. 

“Anyway, what’s up, Harry?” Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. “You look really angry about something.”

“Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,” said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.

Hermione sighed, looking angry on Harry's behalf.

“Yes, most of the school thinks so too,” she said gloomily. "I told everyone in the girls' dormitories to keep their big fat mouths shut about it and if they have a problem with that, they can come to me.”

There was a short pause.

“Thanks,” said Harry in a low voice.

“That’s quite all right,” said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. “Don’t you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year?”

Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly, and Hermione sighed again.

“About You-Know-Who. He said, _‘His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust-’_ ”

“How do you remember stuff like that?” asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.

“I listen, Ron,” said Hermione with a touch of asperity.

“So do I, but I still couldn’t tell you exactly what-”

“The point,” Hermione pressed on loudly, “is that this sort of thing is exactly what the Sorting Hat was talking about. You-Know-Who’s only been back two months, and we’ve started fighting among ourselves. And the Nearly Headless Nick's warning was the same - stand together, be united-”

“And Harry said it last night,” retorted Ron, “if that means we’re supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance.”

“Well, I think it’s a pity we’re not trying for a bit of inter-House unity,” said Hermione crossly.

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the entrance hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers.

“Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,” said Harry sarcastically.

They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry’s mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud gray.

“Dumbledore didn’t even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman’s staying,” he said bitterly as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.

“Maybe...” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“What?” said both Harry and Ron together.

“Well... maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here.”

“What d’you mean, draw attention to it?” said Ron, half laughing. “How could we not notice?”

Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long, braided hair had marched up to Harry.

“Hi, Angelina.”

“Hi,” she said briskly, “good summer?” And without waiting for an answer, “Listen, I’ve been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.”

“Nice one,” said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina’s pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood’s had been, which could only be an improvement.

“Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver’s left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o’clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person’ll fit in.”

“Okay,” said Harry, and she smiled at him and departed.

“I’d forgotten Wood had left,” said Hermione vaguely, sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast toward her. “I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?”

“I s’pose,” said Harry, taking the bench opposite. “He was a good Keeper...”

“Still, it won’t hurt to have some new blood, will it?” said Ron.

"Yeah, if they can even tell one end of their broom from the other." 

With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Pigwedgeon and Hedwig were nowhere to be seen. Hermione, however, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.

“What are you still getting that for?” said Harry irritably, thinking of Seamus, as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl’s leg and it took off again. “I’m not bothering... load of rubbish.”

“It’s best to know what the enemy is saying,” said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it.

Most of the owls, having delivered their packages and envelopes, had already taken flight and were soaring back out the upper windows. One owl, however, swooped in elegantly and landed with a flap of feathers in front of Harry. Harry recognized it instantly as the eagle owl that had brought Draco Malfoy sweets from his mother in their first year. 

Untying the letter attached to the owl's foot, Harry gave it a piece of bacon and pet it. 

"Sorry, I don't know your name," he said, offering up a piece of his egg this time. The owl nuzzled against his hand and leaned forward to drink some of his orange juice before flying back out the window. 

Harry glanced around. Hermione was still absent behind the _Daily Prophet_ and Ron was busy inhaling his latest plate of food. No one else had dared to sit closer than six paces away. 

The wax seal on the parchment was black and had a coat of arms impressed on it, with a large M in the center. Harry tapped the seal with his wand and the letter unfurled. Black ink drawn in sharp lines was the only thing on the parchment, it read:

**under the lake, zero hour, raze**

Harry brought his gave up slowly to where the Slytherin House table was. Draco Malfoy was looking right as him, surrounded by his friends who seemed to be making a conscious effort to not look at them. Harry tilted his forward in an almost imperceptible nod. Draco did the same, then turned away and started a conversation with Theodore Nott as though nothing had happened. 

_'Slytherin Common Room at midnight, password: raze,'_ Harry thought as he tapped the parchment with his wand, sending it erupting into a burst of flame and dumping the ashes in his untouched orange juice. _'Time to break out the old Invisibility Cloak.'_

Harry made a show of starting to pack his things, something that caught Hermione's eye. 

“Nothing,” she said simply, rolling up the newspaper, laying it down by her plate, and beginning to pack her things as well. “Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.”

Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules. The other Head of Houses had descended from the staff table as well, passing out schedules to their students. 

“Look at today!” groaned Ron. “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George’d hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted...”

“Do mine ears deceive me?” said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. “Hogwarts students surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?”

“Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”

“Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, scanning the column. “You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.”

“Why’s it cheap?” said Ron suspiciously.

“Because you’ll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven’t got an antidote yet,” said George, helping himself to a kipper.

“Cheers,” said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, “but I think I’ll take the lessons.”

“And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,” said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, “you can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board.”

“Says who?” said George, looking astonished.

“Says me,” said Hermione. “And Harry.”

“Leave me out of it,” said Harry hastily, sending a wink in the twins' direction.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

“You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,” said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. “You’re starting your fifth year, you’ll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.”

“And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?” asked Hermione.

“Fifth year’s O.W.L. year,” said George.

“So?”

“So you’ve got your exams coming up, haven’t you? They’ll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they’ll be rubbed raw,” said Fred with satisfaction.

“Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s,” said George happily. “Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint...”

“Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d’you remember?” said Fred reminiscently.

“That’s ’cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas,” said George.

“Oh yeah,” said Fred, grinning. “I’d forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Anyway, it’s a nightmare of a year, the fifth,” said George. “If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.”

“Yeah... you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?” said Ron.

“Yep,” said Fred unconcernedly. “But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.”

“We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,” said George brightly, “now that we’ve got-”

He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.

“-now that we’ve got our O.W.L.s,” George said hastily. “I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn’t think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world’s biggest prat.”

“We’re not going to waste our last year here, though,” said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. “We’re going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand.”

“But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?” asked Hermione skeptically, pausing in her crusade of stuffing her _Daily Prophet_ into her bag. “You’re going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose...”

Harry did not look at the twins. He deliberately knocked over his fork while swinging his bag over his shoulder and dived down to retrieve it. He heard Fred say overhead, “Ask us no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, Hermione. C’mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.”

Harry emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.

“What did that mean?” said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. “ ‘Ask us no questions...’ Does that mean they’ve already got some gold to start a joke shop?”

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” said Ron, his brow furrowed. “They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn’t understand where they got the Galleons...”

Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

“D’you reckon it’s true this year’s going to be really tough? Because of the exams?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron. “Bound to be, isn’t it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year.”

“D’you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?” Harry asked the other two, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and set off toward their History of Magic classroom.

“Not really,” said Ron slowly. “Except... well...”

He looked slightly sheepish.

“What?” Harry urged him.

“Well, it’d be cool to be an Auror,” said Ron in an offhand voice.

“Yeah, it would,” said Harry fervently.

“But they’re, like, the elite,” said Ron. “You’ve got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?”

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry. 

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further..."

Harry avoided looking at Ron. 

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectures them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she along seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binn's voice. 

Today they suffered through three-quarters of an hour's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then his brain disengages, and he spent the remaining thirty-five minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye. 

“How would it be,” she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), “if I refused to lend you my notes this year?”

“We’d fail our O.W.L.s,” said Harry with what Hermione had dubbed his 'puppy dog eyes'. “If you want that on your conscience, Hermione...”

“Well, you’d deserve it,” she snapped, not looking at him. “You don’t even try to listen to him, do you?”

“I do try!” said Harry indignantly. He wasn't about to be lumped in the same group as Ron. “I just haven’t got your brains or your memory or your concentration - you’re just cleverer than I am-”

“Oh, don’t give me that rubbish,” said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.

A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner toward them.

“Hello, Harry!”

It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.

“Hi,” said Harry, feeling slightly relieved. _At least you aren't the same color as Ron's hair_ , he told himself.

“You have a good summer, then?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. “How was yours?”

The moment he had said this he wished he hadn’t: Cedric had been Cho’s boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry’s. Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, “Oh, it was all right, you know...”

“Is that a Tornados badge?” Ron demanded suddenly, pointing at the front of Cho’s robes, to which a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold T was pinned. “You don’t support them, do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Cho.

“Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?” said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.

“I’ve supported them since I was six,” said Cho coolly. “Anyway... see you, Harry.”

She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.

“You are so tactless!”

“What? I only asked her if-”

“Couldn’t you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?”

“So? She could’ve done, I wasn’t stopping —”

“What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?”

“Attacking? I wasn’t attacking her, I was only-”

“Who cares if she supports the Tornados?”

“Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season-”

“But what does it matter?”

“It _means_ they’re not real fans, they’re just jumping on the bandwagon —”

“That’s the bell,” said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between classes and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes’ conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape’s classroom door, he hadn't felt very nervous this time. She had chosen to come and talk to him and he hadn't made a complete fool of himself. She had been Cedric’s girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric’s death... Yes, she had definitely _chosen_ to come and talk to him... and at this thought, Harry’s spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape’s dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to have swelled in his chest. He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, ignoring the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.

“Settle down,” said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape’s mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class’s silence. “Before we begin today’s lesson,” said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, “I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your O.W.L., or suffer my... displeasure.”

His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped.

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.”

His eyes rested on Ron and his lip curled. Harry pursed his lips to hide a smile.

“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,” said Snape softly, “so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.

“Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.” On Harry’s left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness. “The ingredients and method” - Snape flicked his wand - “are on the blackboard” - (they appeared there) - “you will find everything you need” - he flicked his wand again - “in the store cupboard” - (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) - “you have an hour and a half... Start.”

Just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

“A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Harry looked around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing the proper amount of silver vapor; Ron’s was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione’s potion, unsurprisingly, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it and said a quiet _'Well done, Granger'_ , which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. At Ron's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Ron with a horrible smirk on his face.

“Weasley, what is this supposed to be?”

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Ron. His proximity to Harry made him a victim of Snape's wrath every year, not even counting his abysmal skills at Potions, or rather his lack thereof. 

“The Draught of Peace,” said Ron tensely.

“Tell me, Weasley,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”

Draco Malfoy laughed from across the room and Harry snorted and ducked his head.

“Yes, I can,” said Ron, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

“Read the third line of the instructions for me, Weasley."

Ron squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon.

“ ‘Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.’ ”

Harry knew what was wrong with the potion before Ron's face had the chance to fall. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes. Harry knew this; he had watched it happen. 

“Did you do everything on the third line, Weasley?”

“No,” said Ron very quietly. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“No,” said Ron, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore...”

“I know you did, Weasley, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. _Evanesco_.”

The contents of Ron's potion vanished, he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

“Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing,” said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”

While everyone around him filled their flagons, Ron started clearing away his things, seething. Harry had to admit; Ron's potion had been no worse than Seamus's, which was now giving off a foul odor of bad eggs, or Neville’s, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron, yet it was Ron, who would be receiving zero marks for the day’s work.

Not a bad morning, in summary. 

Harry filled his flagon and corked it, marching up to Snape's desk and placing it in the middle of the group pile. He gave Hermione a high five on the way back to their bench. 

When the bell rang, Ron was first out of the dungeon.

"Funny how that happened," Hermione said when they'd left, looking at him out of the side of her eye. 

"Yeah," Harry said, making a conscious effort to look as innocent as possible. "What an unfortunate turn of events for our dear friend Ronald."

They were laughing all the way to the Great Hall and, when they got there, found that Ron was already on what looked like his second plate. The ceiling had turned an even murkier gray during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows. 

“That was really unfair,” said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd’s pie. “Your potion wasn’t nearly as bad as Goyle’s, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.”

Harry nearly dissolved into laughter again. Goyle, a friend of Draco's, had apparently broken his flagon while trying to siphon some of his potion into it. Pansy had screamed and waved her wand. A stream of water shot out of her wand and hit Goyle in the chest, soaking his robes which had caught on fire. 

“Yeah, well,” said Ron, glowering at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Ron's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts with Ron at his side.

“I did think he might be a bit better this year,” said Hermione in a disappointed voice. “I mean... you know...” She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. “... Now he’s in the Order and everything.”

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely.

* * *

Divination was Harry’s least favorite class, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney’s habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered, leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but so dim was the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire that she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between tables, chairs, and overstuffed poufs.

“Hermione and me have stopped arguing,” he said sullenly, sitting down beside Harry.

“Good,” grunted Harry.

“But I think it would be nice if you stopped being such a git all the time,” said Ron.

Harry puffed up in anger. “I’m not-”

“Good day,” said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, feeling annoyed that he hadn't had the chance to move to another table before class started. “And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would.

“You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...”

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

“Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then divide into pairs. Use _The Dream Oracle_ to interpret each other’s most recent dreams. Carry on."

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother’s best hat; Harry merely looked at Ron glumly, arms crossed over his chest.

“I never remember my dreams,” said Ron. “You say one.”

“You must remember one of them,” said Harry impatiently. 

He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Professor Trelawney or the stupid _Dream Oracle_ to tell him that...

“Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night,” said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. “What d’you reckon that means?”

“Probably that you’re going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something,” said Harry, turning the pages of _The Dream Oracle_ without interest.

It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. When the bell went, he and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly.

“D’you realize how much homework we’ve got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we’ve got a month’s dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren’t wrong about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any...”

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher’s desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.

The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

“Well, good afternoon!” she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.

“Tut, tut,” said Professor Umbridge. “ _That_ won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Harry's heart sunk. He remembered what'd he'd said to the Weasley twins about the coursebook chosen for this year. He had a very bad feeling about this. 

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order “wands away” had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his robes and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_

_A Return to Basic Principles_

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.”

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

_Course aims:_

_1\. Understanding the principles of underlying defensive magic._

_2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._

_3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in context for practical use._

For a couple of minutes, the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she said, “Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

“I think we’ll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge.’ So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room.

“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ There will be no need to talk.”

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad’s eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ and started to read.

It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his stupor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.

Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione’s mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge’s eye than to struggle on with “Basics for Beginners.”

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

“Not about the chapter, no,” said Hermione.

“Well, we’re reading just now,” said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

“And your name is-?”

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,” said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

“Well, I don’t,” said Hermione bluntly. “There’s nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells.”

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

“ _Using_ defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”

“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron asked loudly.

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.-?”

“Weasley,” said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Hermione immediately raised her hand too, closely followed by Dean Thomas. Professor Umbridge’s pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment, as though blaming him for the disruption in her classroom, before she addressed Hermione.

“Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

“No, but-”

“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-”

“What use is that?” said Harry loudly. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be in a-”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!” sang Professor Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, and Harry lowered his hand. The damage was done, as now several other people had their hands up too.

“And your name is?” Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

“Dean Thomas.”

“Well, Mr. Thomas?”

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” said Dean. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free-”

“I repeat,” said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, “do you expect to be attacked during my classes?”

“No, but-”

Professor Umbridge talked over him.

“I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely _dangerous_ half-breeds.”

“If you mean Professor Lupin,” piped up Dean Thomas angrily as Harry rested a hand on the wand inside his robes, “he was the best we ever-”

“Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-”

“No we haven’t,” Hermione said, “we just-”

“Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!”

Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

“It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you-”

“Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?” said Dean Thomas hotly. “Mind you, we still learned loads-”

“Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!” trilled Professor Umbridge.

“Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?” she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,” said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

“Without ever practicing them before?” said Parvati incredulously. “Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?”

“I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-”

“And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” said Neville loudly, his hand in the air.

Professor Umbridge looked up.

“This is school, Mr. Longbottom, not the real world,” she said softly.

“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting out there?”

“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Longbottom.”

Harry's temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point and he could hardly hold his tongue any longer.

“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

“Hmm, let’s think...” said Hermione in a mock thoughtful voice, “maybe the Dark Lord?”

Ron nodded beside her; Lavender Brown stood up a bit straighter; Neville looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Hermione with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger.”

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry, who thought that his jaw would snap with the force he was clenching it. 

“Now, let me make a few things quite plain.”

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

“You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Hermione angrily, “but yes, he’s returned!”

“Ms.-Granger-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not- make-matters-worse-for-yourself,” said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at her. “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie.”_

“It is NOT a lie!” said Neville. “Harry saw him, he fought him!”

“Detention, Mr. Longbottom!” said Professor Umbridge, managing to look victorious yet terribly put-out at the same time. “Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ ”

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry glared at her, anger swelling within him before raising his hand. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach. Enough was enough. 

“So what is the Ministry's position on the death of Cedric Diggory?” Harry asked, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident,” she said coldly. Her use of the words 'tragic accident' only fanned the flamed of Harry's anger, as they reminded him of what Dumbledore said of Hermione. 

There was an uproar in the entire class. Even Seamus Finnegan had risen from his seat. 

“It was murder!” he had shouted, his voice almost lost among the disruptive symphony of voices.

Harry could feel himself shaking. He was the only one not standing. He was still reclining in his chair, _Defensive Magical Theory_ lying forgotten on his desk. 

Professor Umbridge’s face was quite blank as she looked at Harry. For a moment he thought she was going to scream at him, though she had no legal hold over him and she couldn't exactly give _all_ of the class detention. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

The noise quieted and every head turned to Harry, who rose as slowly. He brushed off the front of his robes and made a conscious effort to not trip over the ends of his robes and make a fool of himself. He strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. 

"Yes, Professor?" he asked. His hands were clasped behind his back and he had turned his body slightly to the side so that he looked down at her, though it made little difference; Umbridge was shorter than Harry when she was standing and was even shorter when sitting. 

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke, though Parvati did giggle after Harry gave her a wink and a smile. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

He took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at the rest of the class, and closing the classroom door shut behind him. He smirked in satisfaction when he heard a cacophony of voices from the classroom rise up even louder than before. He walked along the corridor, the note to McGonagall held loosely in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the Poltergeist, a wide-faced little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.

“Why, it’s Potty Wee Potter!” cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink; Harry jumped backward out of the way with a snarl. He'd been having such a good day, too. 

“Get out of it, Peeves.”

“Oooh, Crackpot’s feeling cranky,” said Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. “What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in” - Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry - _“tongues?”_

Harry didn't say anything. He walked down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside them.

 _“Oh, most think he’s barking, the Potty wee lad,_  
 _But some are more kindly and think he’s just sad,  
_ _But Peevesy knows better and says that he’s mad —”_

A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

“What on _earth_ are you shouting about? Potter?” she asked, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“I've been sent to see you,” said Harry innocently.

“Sent? What do you mean, sent?”

He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower.

“Come in here, Potter.”

He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.

Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Harry.

Then she said, “Have a biscuit.”

“Have - what?”

“Have a biscuit,” she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. “And sit down.”

There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.

Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge’s note and looked very seriously at Harry.

“Potter, you need to be careful.”

Harry swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp, and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual.

“Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge’s class could cost you much more than House points and detention.”

“But I didn't even-”

“Potter, use your common sense,” snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. “You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.”

Harry scowled at the thought of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic and a spineless coward who'd rather live under a false sense of security than actually prepare for catastrophe. 

The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all-around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.

“It says here she’s requested to give all Gryffindor fifth-years detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow,” Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge’s note again.

“Every evening this week!” Harry repeated, horrified. “Can she even _do_ that?”

“Not if I have anything to say about,” said Professor McGonagall flatly. "I'll bring Dumbledore into this if I have to."

“But they were telling the truth!” said Harry. “Voldemort's back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is-”

“For heaven’s sake, Potter!” said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort’s name). “Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It’s about keeping your head down and your temper under control!”

_"I didn't say anything!"_

She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and he stood too. “Have another biscuit,” she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.

"No, thanks,” said Harry coldly, annoyed that she kept trying to pin the blame on him (even though it technically was his fault, she didn't know about it!).

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

He took one.

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly.

“Didn’t you listen to Dolores Umbridge’s speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, hesitating. “Yeah... she said... progress will be prohibited or... well, it meant that... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.”

Professor McGonagall eyed him for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk, and held open the door for him.

“Well, I’m glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,” she said, pointing him out of her office.


	6. Notes from Narcissa and a Date with Daphne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a long-awaited talk with the Slytherins, gets a letter from his aunt, and accidentally goes on a date with Daphne Greengrass.

Dinner was a rather unpleasant experience for Harry. The news about what he and the rest of the Gryffindors had done in Umbridge's class seemed to have traveled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts standards. He heard whispers all around him as he and Hermione sat across from Ron. The funny thing was that none of the whisperers seemed to mind him overhearing what they were saying about him - on the contrary, it was as though they were hoping he would get angry and the Gryffindor's would leap to his defense, so that they could hear the story firsthand. 

"He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered..."

"He reckons he dueled with You-Know-Who..."

"Come off it..."

"Who does he think he's kidding?"

"Puh- _lease..._ "

"What I don't get," said Harry as he laid down his knife and fork (he might lose his temper and chuck them at the nearest unsuspecting offender), "is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them..."

"The thing is, Harry, I'm not sure they did. Let's get out of here," said Hermione. She slammed down her own knife and fork. "Well, stay here if you're so heartbroken!" she added, glaring at Ron; he was still seated and was looking at his half-finished apple pie sadly; he shot up from his seat and followed them. People stared at them all the way out of the Hall.

“What d’you mean, you’re not sure they believed Dumbledore?” Harry asked Hermione when they reached the first-floor landing.

“Look, you don’t understand what it was like after it happened,” said Hermione quietly. “You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric’s dead body... None of us saw what happened in the maze... We just had Dumbledore’s word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.”

“Which is the truth!” said Harry loudly.

“I know it is, Harry,” said Hermione wearily. “It’s just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you’re a nutcase and Dumbledore’s going senile!”

Rain pounded on the windowpanes as they strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing over his right eye. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as they turned into the Fat Lady’s corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid’s cabin.

 _“Mimbulus mimbletonia,”_ said Hermione before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind and the three of them scrambled back through it.

The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their three favorite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly into Hermione’s lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.

 _"How_ can Dumbledore have let this happen?” Hermione cried suddenly, making Harry and Ron jump; Crookshanks leapt off her, looking affronted. She pounded the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes. “How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year too!”

“Well, we’ve never had great Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?” said Harry. “You know what it’s like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it’s jinxed.”

“Yes, but to employ someone who’s actually refusing to let us do magic! What’s Dumbledore playing at?”

“And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,” said Ron darkly. “Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?”

“Of course she’s here to spy on us all, that’s obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?” snapped Hermione.

“Don’t start arguing again,” said Harry wearily, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. “Can’t we just... Let’s just do that homework, get it out of the way...”

They collected their schoolbags from a corner and returned to the chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry kept his face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares he was attracting.

“Shall we do Snape’s stuff first?” said Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. “ _‘The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making...’_ ” he muttered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. “There.” He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Harry and Hermione.

“So what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?”

Normally, Harry stayed quiet while Hermione answered Ron's questions but Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the center of a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

“No, I’m sorry, they’ve gone too far,” she said, standing up and looking positively furious. “Come on, Harry.”

“I - what?” said Harry, in the middle of writing the first sentence of his introduction. “No - come on, Hermione - we can’t tell them off for giving out sweets...” Harry was very plainly playing for time, hoping that he could steer Hermione away from the Weasley twins before either of them let slip just who had invested in their little experiments. 

“You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or - or Puking Pastilles or-”

“Fainting Fancies?” Harry suggested quietly, eyes on the twins and their victims.

One by one, as though hit over the heads with invisible mallets, the first years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right onto the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first years. Harry rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to himself, “She’s got it under control,” before sinking low in his chair and continuing the introduction to his moonstone essay.

“That’s enough!” Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said George, nodding, “this dosage looks strong enough, doesn’t it?”

“I told you this morning, you can’t test your rubbish on students!”

“We’re paying them!” said Fred indignantly.

“I don’t care, it could be dangerous!”

“Rubbish,” said Fred.

“Calm down, Hermione, they’re fine!” said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

“Yeah, look, they’re coming round now,” said George.

A few of the first years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

“Feel all right?” said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

“I-I think so,” she said shakily.

“Excellent,” said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

“It is NOT excellent!”

“'Course it is, they’re alive, aren’t they?” said Fred angrily.

“You can’t do this, what if you made one of them really ill?”

“We’re not going to make them ill, we’ve already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same-”

“If you don’t stop doing it, I’m going to-”

“Put us in detention?” said Fred in an I’d-like-to-see-you-try-it voice.

“Make us write lines?” said George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her curly hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

“No,” she said, her voice quivering with anger, “but I will write to your mother."

Harry could have gasped, it was rare to see Hermione so devious. 

“You wouldn’t,” said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.

“Oh, yes, I would,” said Hermione grimly. “I can’t stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you’re not giving them to first years.” Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione’s threat was way below the belt. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred’s clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms and stalked back to her chair by the fire.

Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees.

“Thank you for your support, Harry,” Hermione said acidly.

“You handled it fine by yourself,” Harry mumbled, too preoccupied with inserting a skinny looking 'o' where he had forgotten to in the word 'moonstone'.

Hermione stared down at her blank piece of parchment for a few seconds, then said edgily, “Oh, it’s no good, I can’t concentrate now. I’m going to bed.”

She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead, she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill, and stood back to admire the effect.

“What in the name of Merlin are you doing?” said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

“They’re hats for house-elves,” she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. “I did them over the summer. I’m a really slow knitter without magic, but now I’m back at school I should be able to make lots more.”

“You’re leaving out hats for the house-elves?” said Ron slowly. “And you’re covering them up with rubbish first?”

“Yes,” said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto her back.

“That’s not on,” said Ron angrily. “You’re trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You’re setting them free when they might not want to be free.”

“Of course they want to be free!” said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink. “Don’t you dare touch those hats, Ron!”

She left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls’ dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats. “They should at least see what they’re picking up,” he said firmly. “Anyway...” He rolled up the parchment on which he had written the title of Snape’s essay. “There’s no point trying to finish this now, I can’t do it without Hermione, I haven’t got a clue what you’re supposed to do with moonstones, have you?”

Harry opened his mouth to say that one of the properties of moonstone was that it soothed emotional instability and stress, which was why it was used in the Draught of Peace, but as he did so, an ache in his right temple was steadily growing worse. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that he would regret not finishing his homework tonight when the morning came, especially when he was supposed to meet the Slytherins at midnight, he shrugged and went back to scribbling on his parchment. 

“I’ll go to bed too then,” said Ron, standing and looking back at Harry in confusion when he didn't move. "Aren't you coming?"

"Nah," said Harry. "If I can't do this essay, I'm going to get ahead a few days on Trelawney's journal."

Ron made a noncommital noise, looking at Harry with the smallest amount of suspicion. 

As Ron was going up, Seamus was coming down. He saw that Harry was still sitting by the fire and opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it and closed it before finally darted off toward the exit of the common room. Harry felt dimly glad that he would go the night without any more provocation. 

* * *

By the time midnight was to roll around, Harry had almost finished his moonstone essay. He had written slightly more than he needed to, as his conclusion would put him half an inch past the 12-inch minimum. Glancing at his watch, Harry saw that it was ten till. He walked up the steps to the boys' dormitory and dropped off his schoolbag. He made sure to make quite a bit of noise, just in case Ron was waiting up for him. He might just be getting paranoid but he couldn't take any chances. 

Harry wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around himself and cast a silencing spell. He leaned on the bed, making it creak and opened the curtains around the four-poster bed and shut them loudly. 

Ron stirred and Harry held his breath. He looked at the bed, looking right through Harry and turned back around. He was snoring in seconds. 

Harry exhaled through his nose as silently as he could and left the dormitory. 

It was kind of nerve-wracking, Harry thought as he crept through the corridors. He was meeting his cousin for the first time after telling him he was his cousin. Not to mention he was also the son of the Dark Lord, who his cousin's father (his uncle) has been working for since the First Wizarding War. 

Harry thought his family was awkward before, but now it was nearly unbearable. 

He walked through the corridors, taking a few shortcuts (courtesy of a certain piece of aged parchment) and trying to seep as silent as possible. Creeping around the empty Hogwarts corridors was creepy, especially at night. Teachers and staff were the only ones allowed to stay out at all hours of the night, but it was nearly the next day, there was little chance that Harry would run into any of them. The curfew for fifth-years was 9 pm; being caught out of bed at midnight was suicide. 

Harry passed the Great Hall and headed to the entrance of the dungeons. He stopped by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall. _"Raze,"_ he said softly from underneath the cloak, watching as the stone door concealed in the wall slid open. 

The Slytherin Common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains, surrounding a large ornate chandelier holding candles with green flames. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantlepiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in low-backed green button-tufted leather sofas. 

They looked up when the door opened and their eyes narrowed as no one entered. Harry waited until he was behind the only vacant chair and all the Slytherins had turned to give each other bewildered looks. Then he threw off the Invisibility Cloak. 

Daphne Greengrass saw him first and she let out a startled shriek, jerking suddenly and slopping what looked like hot chocolate on herself. Everyone turned to look at what she was looking at and, once they saw Harry, jumped. 

"Is this a bad time?" Harry asked, raising a hand to look at his watch. All of the hands were lined up, pointing to the golden twelve embossed on the face. 

"Not at all," Draco Malfoy said, looking like he was the only one not surprised by Harry's theatrics. 

"A little more warning would've been appreciated, though," said Daphne, now using her wand to siphon off the chocolate she'd spilled on her clothes. 

Harry clicked his tongue and tossed the Cloak over the back of his chair. "Constant vigilance, Greengrass. Don't you remember Moody's lessons?"

Daphne sent him a scathing look as she refilled her mug. He responded with a smirk. 

"Well," Harry said, turning to Draco as he sat down. "You called?"

The Slytherins turned to look at each other. 

"So the ring is a Glamour?" asked Blaise curiously. 

"Yeah."

"That is bloody brilliant," said Theodore, looking impressed. "Do you have to recast it every day?"

"Normally, yeah," said Harry. "I can't risk the spell coming undone in front of anybody."

"I think Weasley would just slip into a coma, don't you?" asked Pansy. 

"Probably," Harry shrugged. "Especially since he's been actively trying to keep me from knowing."

"He _what?"_ Draco's voice sounded dangerous and Harry smothered his grin. 

"Yeah," he said innocently. "Apparently some of the Weasleys have been acting on Dumbledore's orders to make sure I never found out who my parents are."

"WHAT!"

Harry flicked his wand lazily. A shimmery dome expanded over them, nearly transparent. It wouldn't do to be overheard by any of the Slytherins in the dormitories. 

"Which ones?" asked Pansy, looking mutinous. 

"As far as I can tell? Just the younger two, Ron and Ginny," said Harry, "though their mother's been training Ginny to slip me love potion."

The common room exploded. 

"He _dares_ to-"

"-knew he was cracked-"

"-never would've thought-"

"-bastard will _pay_ for what he's done."

Harry turned to Draco. 

"We would've grown up together, you know," he said to Harry with an odd look on his face. "According to my mum, Aunt Bella used to come over nearly every day. They'd have tea and talk about nonsense while we played. I'm sure she has pictures somewhere."

The common room had gone quiet. Harry was hanging onto every word Draco said, listening to the story of another life. 

"She never did stop looking for you. After you went missing, I mean," Draco said softly. "It was a raid. They just barged in, grabbed you, and left. Mum was worried sick." He ran a hand through his hair. "She told me the story for ages after that. She'd cry nearly every time she tried to say your name."

All the Slytherins leaned forward as Harry took off the inheritance ring. Feeling as though a bucket of ice was dumped on him, Harry looked at Draco as his Glamour fell away. 

"Anubis Caelum," Draco finished, leaning back in his chair while looking at him with something that looked like awe. 

Silence. 

"See something you like?" Anubis asked Daphne, whose mouth had dropped open.

She didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in her cheeks.

"Nothing at all," she said, turning to stare resolutely at the crackling fireplace. 

Pansy grinned nastily.

* * *

The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast.

“But on the plus side, no Snape today,” said Ron bracingly.

Harry, who'd rather have Snape than a Care of Magical Creatures class without Hagrid, yawned widely and poured himself some coffee. Hermione looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, “The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Ron told her cuttingly. “They might not count as clothes. They didn’t look anything like hats to me, more like woolly bladders.”

Hermione did not speak to him all morning.

Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of O.W.L.s.

“What you must remember,” said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, “is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I’m afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!”

They then spent more than an hour reviewing Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their O.W.L., and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest amount of Charms homework ever.

It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.

“You cannot pass an O.W.L.,” said Professor McGonagall grimly, “without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.” Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. “Yes, you too, Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall. “There’s nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L.”

She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult but by the end of a double period, he had managed to successfully vanish his snail, though Ron said hopefully that he thought his looked a bit paler.

Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall. She and Harry were the only people not given homework; everybody else was told to practice the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.

Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework he had to do, Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Still angry about Ron’s slur on her woolly hats, Hermione didn't want to join him. She dragged Harry to a secluded section of the library and demanded he tell her what happened with the Slytherins the night before. By the time he'd finished his story, she looked very pleased. 

"I think that went rather well, all things considering," Hermione said brightly, grabbing a thick leather-bound book titled _Poisonous Potions._

By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Harry's spirits felt considerably lightened.

The day had become cool and breezy, and, as they walked down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid’s cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid’s front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with many twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding toward them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherins. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table. Judging by the fact that all of them kept looking over at Ron, Harry was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

It was times like these that Harry regretted requesting to be in Gryffindor. 

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked to the greenhouses together, with Harry cursing under his breath and cradling his bleeding hand in a handkerchief of Hermione's. He was fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed by it. 

The weather seemed to reflect Harry's mood. It still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not. 

The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth years spilled out of it, including Ginny.

“Hi,” she said brightly as she passed, though her expression soured considerably as she saw Hermione fussing over Harry's hand. She shot Ron a dark look and continued up to the castle. 

A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello: “I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.”

“Er - right,” said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

“You can laugh!” Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing. “But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!”

Hermione looked like she was going to say something but she pursed her lips and stayed silent. 

Luna gave Harry a bright smile and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.

“You don't seem to like her,” Harry told Hermione as they made their way into class.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harry, you can do better than _her_ ,” said Hermione. “Ginny’s told me all about her, apparently she’ll only believe in things as long as there’s no proof at all. Well, I wouldn’t expect anything else from someone whose father runs _The Quibbler._ ”

Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him.

“I want you to know, Potter,” he said in a loud, carrying voice, “that it’s not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family has always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.”

“Er - thanks very much, Ernie,” said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like these, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who was not wearing radishes in their ears, even though it was technically for Dumbledore. 

Ernie’s words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown’s face and, as he turned to talk to Ron and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus’s expression, which looked both confused and defiant.

To nobody’s surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout’s preferred brand of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.

Harry was starving but he couldn't resist dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower before heading to dinner. He had barely passed the entrance to the Great Hall, however, when a voice said, "Oi, Potter!"

Harry, prepared for another assault by someone who didn't believe him, turned wearily and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy. 

"I've got something for you," he said, holding up an envelope. 

"What is it?" Harry asked, peering curiously at the parchment. 

"A letter from my mother," Draco said and Harry looked at him in surprise. "She says she's found some pictures of you and your mum, and she wanted you to have them."

Harry took the envelope carefully, as though it would burst into flames if he handled it too roughly. His hands were trembling.

"She's also instructed me not to open it, and you'll be happy to know that I value my life, so I haven't."

Harry couldn't stop the laugh from bursting from his lips, despite the sudden swell of emotion in his chest. He looked at Draco and, blinking through the wetness in his eyes, mumbled a quick thanks. 

"Don't worry about it," Draco said, slapping a hand on Harry's shoulder and smiling at him with surprising gentleness. "That's what family is for."

And he walked away, leaving Harry there with a letter from his aunt containing pictures of his mother. 

* * *

In hindsight, sprinting up the stairs was probably a bad idea. 

Blinking away the dampness in his eyes, Harry had turned on his heel and ran all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Everyone was in the Great Hall having dinner, or just leaving their classes, there would be no one in the Tower, he was free to look at the pictures in peace without the threat of prying eyes. 

Harry had completely forgotten about being hungry. The emptiness of his stomach was nothing but a vague suggestion, pushed to the backseat in light of the pictures. 

He finally reached the Tower, gasping out _"mimbulus milmbletonia"_ at the portrait hole and jogging the rest of the way up to the dormitories. Letting out a heavy sigh of relief (there was no one in the dormitory, as expected), Harry locked the door behind him, dropped his bag, and collapsed onto his bed. 

The same wax seal embossed with a large M held the envelope closed. Hands shaking, Harry tapped his wand against the seal and opened the envelope. There were two pieces of parchment in there and Harry, with a great deal of effort, opened the lighter one first.

Rather than the untidy scrawl of Sirius's that Harry had become used to, there was long, narrow, slanted writing that was sort of hard to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run. It read:

_Dearest Anubis,_

_I cannot express how truly happy I am to hear that you're alive. The entire family feared the worst after your abduction._ _Your mother cried every day for weeks, your father was inconsolable. Your uncle Lucius and I felt as though we'd lost a son as well, what with you being so close to Draco's age._

 _You must come home with your cousin for Christmas. The presence of certain people at Hogwarts doesn't allow me to put all I want to say in a letter, so we'll have to wait until then to speak freely._

_Until then, I've enclosed some pictures of you and your parents that I've saved. I couldn't bear to put them away, so I've always had them close._

_All my love, your aunt,  
Narcissa Malfoy_

_P.S._

_Your father has been staying with us since the summer. He won't be with us for Christmas, I'm afraid, as he's currently working on getting your mother to join us for the long term. Still, I'm sure he'll be ecstatic to know you're alive._

There were tears sliding down Harry's face now and he didn't do anything to stop them. Learning last night that he'd been abducted in an off-the-books raid led by Dumbledore was shock enough. Knowing the effect it had on his parents, on his _family_ , stung more than Harry could describe. 

His tears weren't all because of his anger, though. Harry's throat had closed up when his aunt - _his aunt!_ \- had asked him to go home for Christmas. 

Harry had never had a home, not really. He had _loathed_ Number 4 Privet Drive, even before he'd known he was a wizard. He was more attached to Hogwarts than he had ever been to a single person, as no one before Hogwarts had thought to show Harry any sort of affection. Hogwarts was where he was the happiest; the first and only place he felt at home. To know that he'd almost had that, whether it be with Narcissa and Lucius or with his birth parents, was infuriating.

Harry felt a bitter hatred toward Dumbledore, knowing that he'd abducted him from a loving family who'd mourned him when they thought him dead, who'd searched for him when he'd went missing. So what if his father was a homicidal maniac and his mother was serving a life sentence for torturing someone into insanity?

That definitely wasn't a sign of declining mental stability.

Still, the odds of him going to Malfoy Manor, Harry realized, were less than zero. Asking to go to his supposed rival's house over the holidays was suspicious, especially when his supposed rival was also his cousin. That he wasn't supposed to know about. At all. 

As was the case every year, Harry was expected to either go to the Burrow or to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. Of course, now that Sirius was available, Harry could ask Dumbledore if he could stay with him. 

_But_ , said a slimy voice in the back of Harry's mind. _Wasn't Dumbledore the one who allowed Sirius to rot in Azkaban with a life sentence? For a crime he didn't commit?_

But that's stupid, Harry thought. Why would Dumbledore...

Harry's mind went black as he connected the dots. Dumbledore was one of the only people who'd known that James and Lily had changed the Secret Keeper from Sirius to Peter. When Sirius was put on trial, surely Dumbledore would've spoken on his behalf. 

Right?

 _Wrong,_ said the voice. _Sirius was a wild card. You heard what he said back at Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore can't afford to have you too independent._

No, thought Harry. Dumbledore's crimes were severe but he'd never allow an innocent life to waste away like that. 

_Innocent like Hermione?_ The voice was stronger now and Harry could feel anger rising within him, unbidden, but terrifyingly strong. He felt, for that instant, that he would like nothing better than to turn his wand on the old Headmaster and get creative. 

But he has more important things to worry about. 

Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. Was that his new headquarters? It was the Riddle house a year earlier, but evidently, he'd wanted to be done with Little Hangleton, decrepit as it was. 

Aunt Narcissa had mentioned that he was working on 'getting his mother to join them in the long term'. As Bellatrix was currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban, that could only mean that Voldemort was working on breaking her out, presumably with many of his followers who'd been imprisoned over the years. Sirius had been right; Voldemort was rebuilding his army. 

Harry nearly got up and left the dormitory to tell Hermione the new development when he stopped himself. He hadn't opened the other letter; the heavy one holding priceless momentoes. 

Another tap from his wand sliced open the envelope and Harry pulled out a stack of pictures. 

They were the magical kind, moving within their boundaries. Almost all of them had a couple and a baby, with some appearances by a child with shocking blue hair and another infant with light blond hair.

The first picture was a baby in what looked like a large mahogany bassinet. Curly jet black hair sat atop its head, framing silver eyes surrounded by pale skin. Inside the bassinet, there was another baby, this time with pale blond hair and cool gray eyes. They seemed to be playing some sort of hand game, similar to pattycake but fundamentally different, as Harry didn't recognize the movements. 

The next picture was a beautiful woman holding the dark-haired baby from before. They shared their curly hair and silver eyes and they were obviously very close, as all mothers were with their children. 

A man walked into the frame and Harry let out a strangled gasp. 

A young Tom Riddle wrapped one arm around Bellatrix and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He ran his hand through his hair and Harry was struck with the similarities between them. The curls in Harry's hair (in his true form, without the Glamour) were a bit less springy than Bellatrix's and when he ran his hand through them, they relaxed to the sort of casual curl that Tom had naturally. 

Looking at his parents in their youth, Harry looked at what he might have inherited from them. Bellatrix's eyes and dark hair, her strong jaw and pale complexion. Tom's easy grace, his high cheekbones and smile. 

Willingly throwing himself down the rabbit hole of questions, Harry wondered if Bellatrix was ever on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Or if Tom had ever really enjoyed treacle tart. What had he inherited from his parents that was below the surface? Any homicidal tendencies or hereditary mental illnesses? He already knew that he'd inherited Parseltongue from his father, but what else?

Harry's brain was overflowing with questions. The need to _know_ was burning through his veins and he felt helpless.

If he asked anyone about Lily and James Potter, it would seem both sad and expected. _'Aw, the orphan wants to know about his parents. They were such nice people, let's let him know what we know."_

But if he asked about Bellatrix and Tom Riddle, people would ask questions. _'Why would he want to know about the man who killed his family and the woman who tortured his friend's parents into insanity?'_

Harry wasn't exactly known for his smart decisions but he knew what political suicide looked like. 

Still, Harry thought as he flipped through the rest of the pictures, each of them a stab in the heart, it would be nice to know what his parents were like. He had gone from a dead family to a very much alive one, and yet he found that they were just as distant from him. 

* * *

When Harry finally emerged from the dormitory, feeling emotionally numb and like he'd cried far too much for someone to survive, he found Hermione curled up in a ball in one of the armchairs by the fire. She was writing furiously on a piece of parchment and didn't seem to hear him approaching. She finally looked up when he appeared in the doorway and immediately set her parchment down. 

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione asked him as he sat down. "I assumed you'd went off with Malfoy, but then he came in the Great Hall and said that you'd went to the Tower but then you didn't show up for dinner and-"

"Wait, you actually willingly went to talk to _Draco Malfoy?"_ said Harry.

Hermione went red. 

"Well, he's better company than Ron," she huffed and went back to writing on her parchment, which Harry now saw was the moonstone essay Snape had assigned. 

"Where is Ron, anyway?" asked Harry, looking around the common room, only not noticing the absence of their red-haired classmate. 

"I dunno," said Hermione, quite disinterested. "He left after dinner, mumbling about having to do something important."

"Weird," Harry mumbled, pulling out Trelawney's dream journal she had assigned the day before. "I better write some rubbish in here before I forget, god forbid Trelawney predicts my death again because I dreamed of giant marshmallows eating my pillow..."

They spent the rest of the night working on their night working on completing their bowtruckle drawings for Care of Magical Creatures and finishing their moonstone essays before retiring at around 10. 

* * *

Harry and Hermione rose early the next morning, mostly so he could tell her about the letter his aunt had sent him. She had immediately thrown her arms around him and Harry was stunned to see tears in her eyes. 

"Oh, Harry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "That's just wonderful! If you want, I can help you and Sirius sneak out of Grimmauld Place for Christmas so you can visit your family."

Harry, incredibly touched and red in the face, stuttered his thanks as they went to the Great Hall. 

Ron never turned up to breakfast and he showed up during Divination, their first lesson, looking disheveled and staring wildly around the room. Harry sat next to him wordlessly, not willing to make it seem as though he had noticed his absence. Ron looked too nervous to notice. 

"Harry!" he exclaimed as soon as he spotted him. "I need your help, let me copy your dream journal, I haven't done mine..."

"How come you didn't do it last night?" Harry asked, not handing over anything. Ron, who had never returned to Gryffindor Tower last night, muttered something about 'doing other stuff,' bent low over his parchment, and scrawled a few words. 

Harry was instantly intrigued. Perhaps he was meeting Ginny in secret to discuss their plan to drug Harry and Hermione? But it wasn't like they needed an excuse to talk to each other, they were brother and sister, it would be easy for Ginny to pull Ron away from the group. Maybe they were meeting with Dumbledore?

"That'll have to do," Ron said a moment later, slamming the diary shut, "I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird of that, can she?"

Neville showed up, looking pale and waxy, sweating even before he'd entered the heat of Trelawney's classroom. He was highly strung, jumping at every noise. He sat close to Harry and Ron and Harry leaned forward. 

"Morning, Neville," he said conversationally, smiling warmly when Neville jumped and looked at him with wide eyes. "I didn't see you at breakfast."

He left the statement open-ended, hoping that Neville would answer the silent question. He didn't disappoint. 

"Oh, hi, H-harry," Neville said, looking very much like someone caught unawares. "Yeah, I was finishing up some work I hadn't done yet."

"Umbridge kept you that long, huh?" said Harry, feeling genuinely sorry for the boy he considered his friend. After all, it was partly Harry's fault he was even in detention to begin with. "What did she make you do?"

Neville hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "Lines."

Harry narrowed his eyes. 

"That's not too bad, then, eh?" said Ron, now scribbling on a picture of what was probably supposed to be a bowtruckle. 

"Nope," said Neville, shaking the sleeve of his right hand so that it covered most of his hand. 

Harry had a bad feeling about this. 

Neville never revealed the skin on the back of his hand throughout the whole lesson. Harry, part concerned and part curious, tried to make casual conversation with him to hopefully cheer the younger Gryffindor up, but he was too skittish to get any useful information. 

Neville was also one of the worst in Transfiguration, having confessed to Harry and Hermione that he hadn't practiced Vanishing Spells at all the night before due to his detention with Umbridge. They spent their lunch our helping him with his bowtruckle picture, and meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework. 

"At least it was only lines," said Hermione consolingly, as Neville slumped onto his bench looking quite overwhelmed. "It's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really..."

Neville opened his mouth, closed it again, and nodded, looking down at his plate and moving around his mashed potatoes without any real intent of eating them. Harry looked up at the staff table and saw that Umbridge was looking at their group with a wide smile on her face, as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly.

Sending a cold glare up at her, Harry nudged Hermione under the table and tilted his head toward the staff table. She looked up and, narrowing her eyes, declared that she and Harry would be helping Neville catch up on his assignments. 

Neville looked like he would cry, he was so grateful. 

“I can’t believe how much homework we’ve got,” said Ron miserably as the four of them trooped up to Gryffindor Tower.

“Well, why didn’t you do any last night?” Hermione asked him. “Where were you anyway?”

“I was... I fancied a walk,” said Ron shiftily.

Harry had the distinct impression that Neville was not alone in concealing things at the moment.

Neville's homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when they returned to the Gryffindor common room, they opened their books and helped Neville (and, reluctantly, Ron) begin Snape’s moonstone essay. They then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, at which point Ron left, saying he was going for a walk.

When he'd exited through the portrait hole, Harry looked around, searching for the mane of red hair that was Ginny Weasley. When he spotted her by one of the windows surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, he couldn't decide on whether to be disappointed, nervous, or relieved.

Hermione, Harry, and Neville worked together to write on the proper handling of bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank (assigned that afternoon) and staggered up to their dormitories, where they bade each other good night. 

Once they were inside the boys' dormitory, Neville immediately stuffed his cloak in his trunk and collapsed fully clothed on his bed. 

* * *

Thursday passed without any major incident. Ron seemed very sleepy, though Harry could not see why he should be. They handed in their essay on the giant wars in History of Magic, planted some Venomous Tentaculas in Herbology, handed in their moonstone essays in Potions, and practiced Summoning Charms once again with Professor Flitwick. 

After dinner, Ron snuck off again to god knows where and Harry, Hermione, and Neville were working in the library. Neville was a genius in Herbology, which was one of Harry's poorer subjects. Hermione, eager to pester Neville for every speck of knowledge he had, agreed to help him with Potions, which was close enough to Herbology for her to translate it for him. 

Halfway through their little study session, Harry looked up from his book, a leather-bound one with _Dangerous Darkish Spells_ written in shimmery gold letters on its cover, to see Daphne Greengrass delicately flicking through a book with a red cover before putting it back and plucking another book from the shelf, turning its pages just as quickly. 

She was very pretty, Harry thought. Her curly hair seemed to shine like champagne in the candlelight as she tossed it over her shoulder. Her eyes were a striking blue, unlike any he had ever seen before. They didn't twinkle madly like Dumbledore's, they weren't watered down like Pettigrew's were, they weren't teal like the Weasleys'. They reminded him of snowcapped mountains and the Black Lake in the winter, snow falling in Hogsmeade and-

"Harry, are you listening?" 

He jerked and banged his knee against the underside of the table with a loud thud. Harry let out a loud curse, causing Madam Pince to send him a stony glare and hiss at him to lower his voice and watch his language. Muttering under his breath now, Harry turned to where Daphne was.

She had a small smile on her face, though she was still looking resolutely at her book. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, thinking that he wouldn't be at all surprised if she were part Veela. 

Muttering an excuse, he got up and walked toward Daphne with what he hoped was confidence, wincing slightly as he forced his knee to bend as it would normally. 

"'Lo there, Greengrass," Harry said with a smile he hoped didn't look too forced. "Looking for a bit of light reading?"

"Something like that," said Daphne, closing her book, this time with a blue cover, and picking up another. "I'm looking for a specific passage I read in a book yesterday but I don't remember what book it was from."

"Well, what color was it?" asked Harry, turning his attention to the large bookcase in front of them. 

Daphne sighed. "If I knew that, I'd already be done."

"What was the passage about?" 

"The uses of some ancient runes in magical rituals."

Harry's felt his face fall a little. He had hoped that it would be in a class he had taken so he would readily help her. He had never taken Ancient Runes. Hermione had taken it since their third year, but he had never bothered to even try and decipher what she scribbled on her parchment. 

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find," he muttered, only now noticing through the sinking feeling in his stomach that this was the runic section of the library, which meant that all of the titles of the books were written in runes. 

How wonderful. 

* * *

By the time they'd found that passage Daphne was looking for, Hermione and Neville were long gone, though Hermione had managed to send Harry a loaded wink while she ushered Neville out the door. 

"Who is Hermione looking at?" Daphne had asked, peering curiously over the top of a book. 

"No idea," Harry said perhaps a bit too quickly. "Hey, what does this rune mean?"

Now they were on their way to the Owlery, where Daphne had agreed to accompany Harry so he could send his Aunt Narcissa his response. 

"Maybe we'll see each other!" said Daphne with a bright smile when he'd told her that he'd planned to sneak him and his godfather out to visit the Malfoys for Christmas. "The Malfoys always have a small party for Christmas, I've gone ever since I was little."

"I'll make sure I'm there then," said Harry, noticing the light blush dusting her cheeks. 

They'd made it to the Owlery with no trouble, though Harry was sure Daphne noticed the stares they were getting. Daphne cooed when Hedwig had flown down and the snowy owl refused to leave until she'd been given some treats. For a full five minutes, Hedwig preened under Daphne's praise. 

"Oh! Do you want to meet a friend?" Daphne asked Hedwig, looking up at the various owls in their perches. She let loose a sharp whistle and what looked like a shadow darted down from the ceiling. Hedwig let out an indignant squawk as the owl overtook her position on Daphne's forearm, and she fluttered over to Harry's shoulder, looking as offended as an owl could look. 

"Hedwig, Harry," Daphne said, petting the black owl now situated on her arm. "This is Faustus."

Faustus was indeed a handsome owl. He looked to be a barn owl, but with jet black feathers that covered the entirety of his body, with a few rich brown feathers and white spots sprinkled here and there. 

"Hello, Faustus," Harry greeted, giving the owl one of Hedwig's treats. Faustus seemed to warm up to him immediately, flying to his other arm and nipping at his ear. 

Hedwig didn't seem to like this, as she barked (as snowy owls do) loudly and raised her wings threateningly. This seemed to drive Faustus off, if his speed in darting back to Daphne's arm was anything to go off of.

Harry was mortified. 

Thankfully, Daphne laughed it off as Hedwig's instinctive protectiveness of her owner. Harry wasted no more time in sending Hedwig off his missive for Narcissa, which seemed like a good idea until Hedwig hovered in front of Faustus with the letter clutched in her talons as though saying 'see? I'm better than you'.

Harry discreetly gave Faustus another treat once Hedwig had left. 

When they left the Owlery, Harry and Daphne didn't say anything as they turned in unison toward the dungeons. They were talking about nothing in particular on the way there, though Harry's chest swelled with pride every time he managed to make Daphne laugh.

Halfway there, Daphne shivered and Harry realized for the first time that she wasn't wearing a cloak. Only the green tie around her neck identified her as a Slytherin and Harry nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to give her his cloak. She had hesitated before taking it and for one horrible second he was standing there like an idiot, a half formulated apology on his lips, but then she'd smiled at him and graciously allowed him to wrap it around her shoulders.

Harry had played it cool, but he was doing an Irish jig in his head. 

Too soon, they arrived at the dungeons. Harry paused in front of the secret entrance to the Slytherin common room, unsure at what to do next. He'd seen countless Muggle soap operas of Petunia's and, if memory served, this was normally the part where the boy kissed the girl. 

He was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that they'd just spent about half an hour in a tower filled to the brim with owl droppings and he hadn't even bothered to check if he'd stepped in some. The patented Potter hair, dark and unruly, though it had never really bothered him before, seemed to be the bane of Harry's existence. 

"I'll see you later then?" asked Harry, hoping desperately that he didn't have anything in his teeth. 

"I should hope so," laughed Daphne. "We have Potions together on Monday."

"Oh, right," said Harry. "I forgot." _Pull yourself together, damn it._

For a second Daphne and Harry looked at each other, neither saying anything. Then, suddenly, and without any provocation, Daphne raised herself on her tiptoes and gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek. 

"Goodnight, Harry," she said over her shoulder as the stone door slid shut behind her.

Eight seconds passed. 

"Goodnight," Harry whispered too late, touching his cheek gingerly. 

He set off for Gryffindor Tower with a stupid grin on his face, waving to every person he saw and exchanging pleasantries. 

_What a woman,_ Harry thought giddily, as he climbed the staircase to the seventh floor. _She's brilliant, she's gorgeous, she's-_

"Ron?"

He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.

“What are you doing?”

“Er - nothing. What are _you_ doing?”

Harry frowned at him, instantly on guard.

“Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?”

“I’m - I’m hiding from Fred and George if you must know,” said Ron. “They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they’re testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can’t do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there.”

He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

“But what have you got your broom for, you haven’t been flying, have you?” Harry asked.

“I - well - well, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I-I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Harry, trying very hard to keep his expression open and accepting. Ron blinked. “It’s a brilliant idea! It’d be really cool if you got on the team! I’ve never seen you play Keeper, are you good?”

“I’m not bad,” said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry’s reaction. “Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays.”

“So you’ve been practicing tonight?”

“Every evening since Tuesday... just on my own, though, I’ve been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn’t been easy and I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” Ron looked nervous and anxious. “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts.”

"Don't worry," Harry said. "I'll be there. Angelina wants the whole team there, I've got your back."

Ron looked as though he'd just taken a Calming Draught. 

"Thanks, mate," said Ron. "I'd have probably thrown up if I was there by myself."

"Don't worry about it," said Harry with a large grin, already plotting how much fun he was going to have. "What are friends for?"


	7. Daphne + Harry = Haphne? Darry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Daphne being overly affectionate with each other raises some eyebrows during breakfast, DADA with Umbridge gives Harry a headache (literally), and Quidditch tryouts.

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry glanced toward the staff table automatically when he entered the Great Hall, it was without real hope of seeing Hagrid and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework his teachers were sure to assign and the prospect of yet another class with Umbridge.

Two things sustained Harry that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend, and therefore, more time with Daphne (hopefully); the other was that, dreadful though his last weekly class with Umbridge was sure to be, he and Ron were to head to the Quidditch pitch at five o'clock for tryouts.

Breakfast went much better today, in Harry's opinion, though that might just be because of his unofficial date with Daphne Greengrass. 

Harry was halfway through his bacon and eggs when someone with champagne-colored hair ran in the Great Hall. 

"Harry!" It was Daphne Greengrass and she was waving something black in the air. All attention in the Hall was brought to them and whispers started running up and down the House tables. 

It was very obvious that the cloak she was carrying, as Harry has just now realized what it was, was not hers. She was wearing her own, which had green lining and a Slytherin badge on the breast. The one she was holding, however, had crimson lining and the Gryffindor badge. 

It was Harry's cloak. He'd forgotten to get it back from her when he'd dropped her off at her common room last night. 

Harry stood and met her halfway, unable to stop the smile from splitting his face. 

"Hey, Daphne," he said and a group of fourth-year Gryffindor girls started whispering instantly. "Did I forget this with you last night?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I forgot to remind you-"

"Oh, don't worry, it was totally my fault, I forget everything-"

"Well, I won't forget last night," said Daphne with a mischievous smirk and Harry, catching the innuendo instantly, stared at her.

Daphne Greengrass was known as the Ice Princess at Hogwarts. She was beautiful, no doubt about that, and many a Hogwarts student had tried asking her out, only for her to coldly rebuke them, leaving them dejected for the next two weeks. She was notorious for only associating with people she thought were worth her time and, as such, really only hung out with Slytherins. 

For her to show any type of emotion, especially toward a Gryffindor, _especially_ toward Harry, was practically unheard of, and was bound to throw the hierarchy into chaos. 

Harry couldn't wait. 

"Neither will I," he said, winking at her, and the Hufflepuff table started putting their heads together and muttering. He raised his voice. "Hey, I'm going to overlook the Quidditch tryouts for Gryffindor, wanna watch?"

"I'd love to," said Daphne, matching his volume with a genuine smile. The Ravenclaws at the table next to the Hufflepuffs gave each other significant looks but said nothing. "What time?"

"Five o'clock, Daph," said Harry, hoping to every deity he knew that he hadn't overstepped his bounds. "Can I count on you?"

But Daphne just giggled and threw her arms around his neck. 

"Of course, babe," she said and Harry's stomach swooped. "I'll be there."

Then she flounced away and he was left standing there in the middle of the Great Hall, clutching his own cloak, with a foolish grin on his face. 

When Harry finally found his way to the Gryffindor table again, Hermione immediately smirked at him from across the table. 

"Looks like your cloak wasn't lost after all, hmm?" 

"Oh, bugger off, 'Mione." 

* * *

Murmurs followed Harry for the rest of the day. 

Professor Umbridge, unfortunately, seemed quite upset that Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors had escaped their week-long detention. She seemed sour the entire lesson and called Harry up to her desk for no reason, other than to deduct house points in front of the entire class. 

"You haven't gotten the message yet, dear?" said Umbridge when he'd reached her desk. 

She leaned toward him, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took told of him, pain seared across the scar on his forehead, and his knees felt weak. At the same time, he had a most peculiar swooping sensation somewhere around his midriff. 

He wrenched his arm out of her grip and stumbled back, staring at her. She looked back at his, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth. 

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly. 

He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she know what he had just felt in his forehead?

"Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Potter. You may go."

He left her desk as quickly as he could, all but collapsing into his chair. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him but he waved her off. 

_Stay calm,_ he told himself as they packed up their things and headed for lunch. _Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means..._

Just before they reached the Great Hall, Harry took Hermione's arm and pulled her aside. Within seconds, they were lost in the flurry of students eager for lunch and found their way to a deserted classroom. 

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked immediately after the door closed behind them. 

"I'm not sure," said Harry distractedly, glancing around the room for anyone who might be listening; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst. "Listen, Hermione, when I was by Umbridge's desk, she touched my arm..."

Hermione listened closely. When Harry had finished she said slowly, “You’re worried that You-Know-Who’s controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?”

“Well,” said Harry, dropping his voice despite their stark aloneness, “it’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. “But I don’t think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he’s properly alive again now, isn’t he, he’s got his own body, he wouldn’t need to share someone else’s. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose...”

Harry watched a spider spin a web in a corner of the doorway. Then Hermione said, “But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn’t Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn’t got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it’s just coincidence it happened while you were with her?”

“She’s evil,” said Harry flatly, having convinced Neville to tell him what really happened during his detention with Umbridge. “Twisted.”

“She’s horrible, yes, but... Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.”

"Are you joking?" asked Harry, looking at Hermione as though she was mad. "Why in the world would I go to Dumbledore? After all we've figured out about him?"

"Harry-"

"Anyway, it's just like you said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer - it was just a bit worse today, that's all-"

"Harry, regardless of what we know about Dumbledore, we know that he works against You-Know-Who! At the very least, the prospect of a teacher under the Dark Lord's control should worry him-"

"Well, maybe I don't want to work against him anymore!"

Harry's statement rang throughout the empty classroom but he couldn't really appreciate it. Blood was pumping loudly through his ears, smothering every other noise. He was _not_ going to lose his parents, not so soon after learning that he had them. 

"What?"

Hermione's eyebrows couldn't possibly travel higher into her hairline than they already were. 

"You heard what I said! I just..." said Harry, sinking into a chair. "I'm not sure what to do."

He sounded horribly pathetic, in his opinion. He was the damn Boy Who Lived, champion of the light! Just because his parents were now enemies doesn't mean that he should reevaluate his life choices, right? He'd always fight for what's right, that's who he was, it didn't matter who his parents were or what they fought for?

Right?

_But what does the Light fight for?_

There was a snide voice in the back of Harry's head, who seemed to be growing louder as the days passed. 

_Dumbledore seems worse than your father at the moment, doesn't he? Threatening to kill you and Hermione if you don't submit to him sounds a lot like something a certain Dark Lord would do._

It certainly did. 

"-understand if you wouldn't want to fight your parents. I promise we'll find some way to let them know what really happened to you."

"What?" asked Harry. Had he really zoned out?

"It's the only logical course of action," said Hermione. "I know you don't want to fight your family, especially after you only just got them back. It makes sense to sneak around Dumbledore and try and contact your parents."

"But isn't that..." Harry trailed off, not really sure how to broach the subject. 

"Wrong?" said Hermione with a smirk. "Harry, I don't even know what wrong means anymore."

She started pacing around the room. 

"Dumbledore was supposed to protect us. He's supposed to be the one person who keeps the Dark at bay. He's supposed to be the _good_ guy, for heaven's sake!"

Hermione kicked at a bookcase, which made a horrible sounding crack. 

"I trusted him, we all did!" she said, working herself into a fury. "You, me, and Sirius, we all put our lives in his hands and he's betrayed us without even thinking twice!"

She stopped pacing and went quiet, breathing harshly through her nose. 

"Still think I should tell Dumbledore about my scar?" said Harry sarcastically. _It's the only bit of me that Dumbledore cares about,_ the voice snarled. 

"On second thought, no."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Harry had an idea. 

“I think I’ll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks-”

“Harry, you can’t put something like that in a letter!” said Hermione, looking alarmed. “Don’t you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can’t guarantee owls aren’t being intercepted anymore!”

"Well, how do we know that Moody isn't acting on Dumbledore's orders?" Harry shot back. 

"Well..." Hermione trailed off, looking conflicted. "He's an Auror!"

"Oh, so he's working for the Ministry, then? Yeah, that's _loads_ better than Dumbledore."

"Nevermind that," Hermione snapped, glancing at her watch. "Come on, Ron's probably halfway through his second plate by now, he might've resurfaced already..."

* * *

Five o'clock couldn't have come sooner. Half an hour before tryouts were to start, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team left the Great Hall and headed to the Quidditch pitch. 

Harry stuck close to the Weasley twins, trying to gauge whether or not they were in on the plan to drug him. Hermione, despite her misgivings with the twins' experiments, had adamantly defended them, saying that their reaction to Harry being made Prefect exonerated them. 

"I'm not saying they're saints," she had said while they patrolled the halls for students out after curfew. "If they'd wanted to drug you, they could've snuck some love potion into their Fainting Fancies and had you try one."

Still, the entire way to the Quidditch pitch, the twins regaled Harry with tales of their experiments and their shortcomings. 

"Had an ickle firsty faint on us the other day," said Fred. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," said George, looking sad. "She had tried out our Nosebleed Nougat, you see-"

"-and since we haven't figured an antidote yet-"

"-she kept bleeding 'till she was white in the face!"

"Taking her up to Madame Pomfrey was a bit of a risk, mind you," said George.

"We couldn't exactly tell her why the firsty had fainted-"

"Naturally," said Harry. 

"-so we made up some story about how some Ravenclaws were picking on her-"

"-and she ate it right up!" The twins chorused. "Even gave us some House points for being good Samaritans!"

"That's the ticket," said Harry, nudging them both with an elbow each. "No reward without risk, I always say."

By the time they'd reached the changing rooms, Harry was quite sure that the only unsavory thoughts on Fred and George's minds were new ways to trick some first-years into trying a Puking Pastille. 

* * *

When Ron had shown up to tryouts, Fred and George indeed made fun of him, picking fun throughout the whole warmup. Angelina had given them both rough slaps upside the head, which tempered them for a while, but after that, they'd just made sure that she couldn't hear them. 

Seven people showed up to try out for Keeper and Harry didn't miss how the entire team seemed to be trying their best to look intimidating, which wasn't hard, as they were the only ones on the pitch in full gear. 

Nevertheless, tryouts went on. 

The first person, a third-year named Vicky Frobisher, flew really well. She didn't save every Quaffle, but given that she was going against the three best Chasers in the league, Harry was willing to cut her some slack.

The second person to try out did so poorly that Harry hadn't bothered to learn her name. The third person, a fourth-year called Geoffrey Hooper, had done pretty well, though he complained about there being so many people watching him during his tryout. The fourth potential Keeper was terrible and Harry kept himself entertained by playing with a Snitch. 

"Oi, Potter," said George, pulling up beside him and nudging him in the side. "Your girlfriend's here."

Harry looked up and sure enough, Daphne was sitting in the stands, chatting animatedly with Luna Lovegood. Grinning, Harry pushed his broom higher and, when they looked up at him, did a fancy move he'd only just mastered that involved him diving toward the ground, pulling up at the last minute, and zooming past the crowd. Daphne blew him a kiss as he passed her and he was about to show off some more when Angelina yelled at him. 

"Potter, what the hell?" she shouted. "Get your arse back over here, we're in the middle of tryouts!"

Harry pouted but obeyed. 

Ron was next, and Harry watched with subdued interest. It didn't really matter to him if Ron made the team. If he did, he better help them win the Quidditch Cup. If he didn't, no harm done, other than to Ron's overinflated ego, of course. The Weasley dodged a Bludger exceptionally well, especially for someone who'd only been practicing for a few days on his own. Harry, despite himself, was almost impressed until Ron fumbled an easy save. He didn't miss Angelina's wince.

The sixth and seventh people to Keep were second-years that barely knew how to hold a broom and they were too scared to go fast enough to Keep effectively so Angelina sent them off with a 'well done'. 

Personally, Harry thought that it was between Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper. No one was good enough to measure up to Oliver Wood but they were the closest. Hooper had a bad attitude and Frobisher didn't seem to want to put Quidditch first, but they were the best of the lot. 

"Alright," said Angelina after calling all returning players into a huddle. "Personally, I think it's between Frobisher, Hooper, and Weasley."

She turned to Harry and the twins. 

"Look, I know he's your best mate, and your brother, but he's not fabulous," she said bluntly. "I think with a bit of training he'll be alright though."

"He _does_ come from a family of good Quidditch players," said Fred with a grin. 

"Shut up, you," Angelina said without looking at him. "I'm banking on Ron to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashes with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first." 

The team collectively wrinkled their noses and turned to glare at the offending Keeper. 

"So, Ron's Keeper?" asked Harry, trying to sound like he cared. 

"Looks that way," said Angelina with a shrug. "Just make sure that the whole team is willing to help him out."

Everyone nodded and turned as one, walking to the newbie group with more than the appropriate amount of intimidation. 

"Heads up!" yelled Angelina and everyone snapped to attention. "Two, Four, Six, and Seven, you're out."

The potential Keepers whose names Harry hadn't bothered to remember trooped off the field, only about half of them looking dejected. 

One, Three, and Five were left. Frobisher looked as though she could care less about the events that were playing out and Hooper looked so sure of himself you'd think he was already on the team. Ron was the only one who looked really nervous, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide it. 

"Weasley!" Angelina yelled suddenly, sounding more like Oliver Wood than Harry thought possible. "Think fast!"

Swinging her arm around, Katie Bell sent a Quaffle toward Ron, who caught it with a surprised look on his face.

Angelina grinned. 

"Well, Weasley," she said. "Welcome to the team."

Immediately, Fred and George pounced on their little brother, with Ron protesting weakly through his smile. 

"Gerroff me!" Ron yelled, though there was no real heat behind it. As the youngest boy, he was obviously enjoying any speck of attention he got. 

Daphne waved goodbye to him as she entered the castle and, despite being forced to listen to Ron's play by play of the tryouts, Harry couldn't wipe the grin off his face the entire way back to Gryffindor Tower. 

_"Mimbulus mimbletonia!"_ Harry muttered to the Fat Lady, who swung forward once more. 

Fred and George produced butterbeers out of nowhere and Ron beamed. 

"Have a butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle onto him. "I can't believe it - where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred, who was also swigging butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her head bobbing back and forth in her hands. 

"Hermione!" Ron yelled loudly, making Hermione jerk and look around irritably. 

"Yes?" she asked curtly. 

"Um..." Ron said, looking suddenly unsure. "I made Keeper."

"Brilliant," Hermione said without the appropriate amount of emotion. "Nice, Ron, I'm sure you did great."

Ron, looking slightly put out, turned to Harry for help. Harry shrugged and sunk down in an armchair near Hermione's. 

"Oh, hi, Harry," she said with a sleepy smile. "I'm just so - so - so tired," she yawned. "I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up. 

"Great," Harry said with false cheer. He stared into the fire, wishing that he could throw in some Floo powder and transport himself to Grimmauld Place. 

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," called Alicia Spinnet, the other Chaser for Gryffindor. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead..."

Harry had to bite back a smile. Ron, who was so excited to finally make a name for himself outside his family, was getting another set of secondhand robes. How fitting. 

"Oi!" yelled Angelina, calling the attention of the entire common room. "Gryffindor Quidditch has a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, make sure you're there!"

Affirmations rippled through the crowd and Harry got to his feet. 

“I’m going to bed," he said. "Tell Ron for me, will you?”

“Oh no,” said Hermione, looking relieved, “if you’re going that means I can go without being rude too, I’m absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it’s quite fun, I’m getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.”

Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer.

“Er... no, I don’t think I will, thanks,” he said. “Er - not tomorrow. I’ve got loads of homework to do...”

And he traipsed off to the boys’ stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed behind him.


	8. The Ministry's Plan

_Dear Padfoot,_

_Hope you're okay, the first week back here's been pretty good, though I'_ _m really glad it's the weekend._ _Since it's O.W.L year, all our teachers have been practically drowning us in homework. Hermione's helping me keep up though, thank the gods._

_We've got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you last summer happened again yesterday in her class._

_We're all missing out biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon._

_Please write back quickly._

_Best,_

_Harry_

_P.S_

_My aunt wrote to me and wishes for us to visit her for Christmas. I've already told her we'd go, hope you don't mind. Hermione agreed to help me pick something out for her, so hopefully she knows what she's talking about._

_P.P.S_

_Went on a date with a girl named Daphne, she's really nice and I really like her. Write back with any advice you have on wooing her, I could really use the help._

Harry reread this letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about - or who he was talking to - just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not dare tell Sirius outright that Narcissa had written to him; before this year, he only had to worry about Death Eaters intercepting his letters. Now, he had to worry about the Order of the Phoenix as well. 

* * *

There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair falling around his grinning face. 

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," he said. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry asked, half laughing. 

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione anxiously. 

“Well, I think a girl - first year by the look of her - might’ve got a glimpse of me earlier, but don’t worry,” Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. “I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I’ll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something.”

“But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk-” Hermione began.

“You sound like Molly,” said Sirius. “This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry’s letter without resorting to a code - and codes are breakable.”

At the mention of Harry’s letter, Hermione turned to stare at him.

“You didn’t say you’d written to Sirius!” said Hermione accusingly.

“I forgot,” said Harry, which was perfectly true; the prospect of Quidditch practice had driven everything out of his mind. “Don’t look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got information out of it, was there, Sirius?”

“No, it was very good,” said Sirius, smiling. “Anyway, we’d better be quick, just in case we’re disturbed — Narcissa's letter.”

"What about-?" Harry began, but Hermione said quickly. "We don't have time, go on, Sirius."

“Well, I know it won't be easy to get out of Grimmauld, but I don’t think it’s anything to really worry about. You said Hermione would help, right?”

“Yeah, and Draco said that he'd help any way he could, as long as it didn't draw suspicions toward me,” said Harry.

“Well, now, already making friends?” said Sirius with a smile.

“Maybe,” Harry said. "How do you think we should go about this?"

“Not sure,” said Sirius. “Your scar is visible with or without the Glamour, and I'm not entirely sure that showing it off will help your case-”

“Draco believes me, though, along with the rest of the Slytherins,” said Harry quickly and Hermione nodded agreement.

“Yes, but I'm not sure how his parents would take the news,” said Sirius with a knowing smile. “Also, I've heard that the Dark Lord is planning a prison break at a certain inescapable prison.”

“How do you know about that?” asked Harry before he could stop himself.

“I have my sources,” said Sirius with a wry smile, “but that means he probably won't be at the Manor over the holidays.”

"Good," said Harry and he meant it. "I don't think I could take meeting the entire extended family."

“They _are_ a hard pill to swallow,” said Sirius thoughtfully. "But they'll love you, I'm sure of it."

There was a pause, in which, for one horrible second, Harry thought about what would happen if his family didn't want him. 

“So what are Umbridge’s lessons like?” Sirius interrupted. “Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?”

“No,” said Harry angrily, his train of thought returning to the matter at hand. “She’s not letting us use magic at all!”

“All we do is read the stupid textbook,” said Hermione with a pout. Harry nearly choked on air; he had never heard Hermione insult a _textbook_ , of all things.

“Ah, well, that figures,” said Sirius. “Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn’t want you trained in combat.”

“Trained in combat?” repeated Harry thoughtfully, an idea having formed in his head. “What does he think we’re doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?”

“That’s exactly what he thinks you’re doing,” said Sirius, “or rather, that’s exactly what he’s afraid Dumbledore’s doing - forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. No doubt he'd be expected to lead this 'army' if it formed. As the Light's poster boy, he'd be the most obvious choice.

“So we’re being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we’ll use spells against the Ministry?” said Hermione, looking furious.

“Yep,” said Sirius. “Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He’s getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It’s a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.”

Dumbledore being arrested could work in his favor, Harry thought. Without him at Hogwarts, he was free to work on his plan to sneak out to Malfoy Manor and, hopefully, on his plan to escape the Light's grasp. 

"When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could-"

"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously. 

"Oh that," said Sirius, grinning, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue-"

"It could work," said Harry to Hermione, who'd just opened her mouth furiously, "Draco _is_ under our thumb now. We know it was his dad who recognized Sirius at the platform, and we know Draco won't go running his mouth if we tell him not to."

Hermione looked conflicted. 

"But what if-?"

"Hermione, if we play the 'What If' Game, everyone loses," said Harry. "The only ones we have to worry about are the Weasleys and I'm sure Fred and George would love to meet one of their idols."

"Idol, you say?" asked Sirius. Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry smiled, not at all apologetic that his next statement would ensure Sirius coming to Hogsmeade. 

"Oh, didn't I say?" he said innocently. "Fred and George were the ones who gave me the Marauder's Map, said it was the secret to their success as tricksters. Whoever the hell Padfoot is, they're practically a _god_ to them."

"Really?" said Sirius, looking immensely pleased with himself. "Well, who am I to deny them a chance to meet their idol?"

There was a tiny _pop_ , and the place where Sirius’s head had been was flickering flame once more.

* * *

Umbridge was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. Harry told Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of _Defensive Magical Theory_ , but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called them all to order and silence fell.

“Wands away,” she instructed them all smilingly, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. “As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, ‘Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.’ There will be no need to talk.”

Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Harry wondered dully whether there were enough chapters in the book to keep them reading through all this year’s lessons and was on the point of checking the contents when he noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again.

Professor Umbridge had noticed too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, “What is it this time, Miss Granger?”

“I’ve already read chapter two,” said Hermione.

“Well then, proceed to chapter three.”

“I’ve read that too. I’ve read the whole book.”

Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly.

“Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen.”

“He says that counterjinxes are improperly named,” said Hermione promptly. “He says ‘counterjinx’ is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.”

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows, and Harry knew she was impressed against her will.

“But I disagree,” Hermione continued.

Professor Umbridge’s eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.

“You disagree?”

“Yes, I do,” said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the rest of the class’s attention. “Mr. Slinkhard doesn’t like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they’re used defensively.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. “Well, I’m afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard’s opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.”

“But-” Hermione began.

“That is enough,” said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. “Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House.”

There was an outbreak of muttering at this. 

“What for?” said Harry angrily.

“Don’t you get involved!” Hermione whispered urgently to him.

“For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,” said Professor Umbridge smoothly. “I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection-”

“Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,” said Neville loudly, and Harry felt his jaw clench, “there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.”

This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Then-

“I think a week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr. Longbottom,” said Umbridge sleekly.

Neville immediately paled and shrank down in his seat and Harry felt his temper, so close to boiling over in recent days, rise to dangerous levels. Hermione, face twisted in an odd mixture of fury and guilt at the same time, opened her mouth to say something else, but Harry put a hand on her arm. 

"Not now," he whispered, his voice shaking with anger, well aware of Umbridge watching him. "We'll wait up for him this time."

* * *

When they walked down the lawns toward the forest for Care of Magical Creatures the next day, they found Professor Umbridge and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank. 

“You do not usually take this class, is that correct?” Harry heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive bowtruckles were scrabbling around for wood lice like so many living twigs.

“Quite correct,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.”

Hermione looked at Harry furiously and jerked her head in Draco's direction. He was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.

“Hmm,” said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly, “I wonder - the headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid’s very extended leave of absence?”

Harry tried to look as though he wasn't interested in their conversation.

“’Fraid I can’t,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. “Don’t know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks teaching work, accepted - that’s as much as I know. Well... shall I get started then?”

“Yes, please do,” said Professor Umbridge, scribbling upon her clipboard.

Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered among the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry’s spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.

“Overall,” said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank’s side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, “how do you, as a temporary member of staff - an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?”

“Oh, yes, Dumbledore’s excellent,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. “No, I’m very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.”

Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, “And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?”

“Oh, I’ll take them through the creatures that most often come up in O.W.L.,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank. “Not much left to do - they’ve studied unicorns and nifflers, I thought we’d cover porlocks and kneazles, make sure they can recognize crups and knarls, you know...”

“Well, _you_ seem to know what you’re doing, at any rate,” said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. Harry did not like the emphasis she put on _'you'_ and liked it even less when she put her next question to the Slytherins: “Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?”

Harry looked up immediately and searched the crowd of green for the pale, pointed face of his cousin. Draco, perhaps feeling that someone was staring at him, turned around. Harry said nothing, only narrowing his eyes and shaking his head ever so slightly.

There was a moment of silence, in which the Slytherins said nothing, apparently waiting for Draco to say something.

 _Don't say anything_ , Harry thought, trying his hardest to somehow make Draco hear him. _Keep your mouth shut._

He felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. If Draco said something bad about Hagrid, his father's position at the Ministry would ensure that Hagrid was sacked the moment he got back to the castle. 

"No," said Draco slowly, looking at Harry as though he'd swallowed something sour before turning to meet Umbridge's eyes. "Nothing serious, at least. Just the occasional scraped knee and papercuts from bowtruckles..."

"Really?" said Professor Umbridge incredulously, her quill positioned over her clipboard as though she'd been ready to write something. "Are you quite sure, Mr. Malfoy? I'd heard whispers of a hippogriff-"

"I'm not sure what you heard, Professor," said Draco coolly, "but there haven't been any injuries in this class."

Next to Harry, Hermione's jaw dropped. 

* * *

It was after midnight when Neville returned to the common room, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He entered through the portrait hole, stepping through slowly and quietly like he thought everyone was asleep. Harry and Hermione, after practically forcing Neville to tell them what happened in Umbridge's detention the night before, had waited up for him.

"Here," Hermione said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of foul-smelling yellow liquid toward Neville, "soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help."

Neville placed his bleeding hand into the bowl and immediately sighed and slumped down into his chair. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, and then leapt into his lap and settled down.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks’s ears with his left hand.

“I still reckon you should complain about this,” said Harry in a low voice.

“No,” said Neville strongly.

“McGonagall would go nuts if she knew-”

“Yeah, she probably would,” said Neville. “And how long d’you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment she closed it again in a defeated sort of way.

“She’s an awful woman,” she said in a small voice. “Awful. You know, I was just saying to Harry when you came in... we’ve got to do something about her.”

“I suggested poison,” said Harry disappointedly, as Hermione had quickly shut down that option.

“No... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we’re not going to learn any defense from her at all,” said Hermione.

“Well, what can we do about that?” said Neville, yawning. “ ’S too late, isn’t it? She got the job, she’s here to stay, Fudge’ll make sure of that.”

“Well,” said Hermione tentatively. “You know, I was thinking today...” She shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on, “I was thinking that - maybe the time’s come when we should just - just do it ourselves.”

“Do what ourselves?” said Harry suspiciously, feeling as though he was getting roped into something.

“Well - learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves,” said Hermione.

“Don't tell me,” groaned Neville, still floating his hand in the essence of murtlap tentacles. “You want us to do extra work? D’you realize Dean and I are behind on homework again and it’s only the second week?”

“But this is much more important than homework!” said Hermione.

Harry and Neville goggled at her.

“I didn’t think there was anything in the universe more important than homework,” said Neville sarcastically, making Harry crack a smile.

“Don’t be silly, of course there is!” said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervor that S.P.E.W. usually inspired in her. “It’s about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge’s first lesson, for what’s waiting out there. It’s about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don’t learn anything for a whole year-”

“We can’t do much by ourselves,” said Neville in a defeated voice. “I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose-”

“No, I agree, we’ve gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,” said Hermione. “We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we’re going wrong.”

“If you’re talking about Lupin...” Harry began.

“No, no, I’m not talking about Lupin,” said Hermione. “He’s too busy these days anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that’s not nearly often enough.”

“Who, then?” said Harry, frowning at her.

Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I’m talking about you, Harry.”

There was a moment’s silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes and the fire guttered.

“About me what?” said Harry stubbornly.

“I’m talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Neville, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like S.P.E.W. To Harry’s consternation, however, Neville did not look exasperated. He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, “That’s an idea.”

“What’s an idea?” said Harry.

“You,” said Neville. “Teaching us to do it.”

“But...”

Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.

“But I’m not a teacher, I can’t-”

“Harry, you’re the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione.

“Me?” said Harry, now grinning more broadly than ever. “No I’m not, you’ve beaten me in every test-”

“Actually, I haven’t,” said Hermione coolly. “You beat me in our third year - the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I’m not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you’ve done!”

“How d’you mean?”

“You know what, Hermione, I’m not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,” Neville said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry. “Let’s think,” he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. “Uh... first year - you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who.”

“But that was luck,” said Harry, “I was barely eleven, that wasn’t skill -”

“Second year,” Hermione interrupted, “you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle.”

“Yeah," said Harry with a stab of guilt, "but if Fawkes hadn’t turned up I-”

“Third year,” said Hermione, louder still, “you fought off about a hundred dementors at once-”

“You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn’t-”

“Last year,” Hermione said, almost shouting now, “you fought off You-Know-Who again-”

“Listen to me!” said Harry, almost angrily, because Neville and Hermione were both smirking now. “Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, I didn’t plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help-”

Neville and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling so angry.

“Don’t sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn’t I?” he said heatedly. “I know what went on, all right? And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right - but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing - STOP LAUGHING!”

The dying flames in the fireplace burst to life, crackling and popping. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa; Neville and Hermione’s smiles had vanished.

“You don’t know what it’s like! You - neither of you - you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own - your own brain or guts or whatever - like you can think straight when you know you’re about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that - and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up - you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me-”

Harry's thoughts were leaving through his mouth faster than he could process them. Was Hermione asking him to lead an army against his father, after she had said that she would help him come to a compromise? But he couldn't say anything in front of Neville, of course, because Harry was forced to hide his true identity from the world, lest he be an outcast for being the Dark Lord's son or killed for being the Boy Who Lived...

“We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,” said Neville, looking aghast. He took his hand out of the bowl for a second, then winced and put it back in. “We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t - you’ve got the wrong end of the-”

He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken. Seeing the golden flecks in her eyes shine with tears gave Harry a pause. 

“Harry,” she said timidly, “don’t you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... We need to know what it’s r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort.”

It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort’s name, and it was this, more than anything else, that calmed Harry. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, not looking at them.

“Well... think about it,” said Hermione quietly. “Please?”

Harry could not think of anything to say. He was feeling ashamed of his outburst already. He nodded, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to.

Hermione stood up.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. “Erm... ’night.”

Neville had gotten to his feet too.

“Coming?” he said awkwardly to Harry.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “In... in a minute.” He said nothing else as Neville nodded and left. 

He was sick of being the Chosen One, the one everyone looked to blame when something went wrong and didn't think to apologize to when he fixed it. Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived, he's the one who killed Voldemort and ended the war, he'll always be there for us, it doesn't matter what we do, he's too much of a _hero_ to leave us to die-

Harry's wand was suddenly in his hand and he shouted, slashing it in the fire's direction. The flames strengthened and roared, turning a bright blue, and Harry was blasted with a burst of oppressively hot air. Rooted in place, he watched the flames flicker and die. The only light was from the surprisingly bright embers, glowing white in the gloom of the empty common room. 

The logs that hadn't ever burnt out weren't there resting in the grate, as they'd been since Harry's first year. Only ashes remained. 

He was suddenly so tired that he was tempted to sink back into his armchair and sleep there, but instead he got to his feet and followed Neville upstairs, refusing to think about the ashes in the fireplace as he dressed for bed and collapsed into his covers. His restless night was punctuated once more by dreams of long corridors and locked doors, and he awoke the next day with his scar prickling again.


	9. The Meetings of the Armies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Covers the foundations of Dumbledore's Army and the beginning of another, darker army that will serve a different purpose...

Harry had been looking forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade, but there was one thing worrying him. Sirius hadn't said when he would be appearing to meet them, but presumable he would abstain from waiting for Harry at the entrance to the castle. Then again, Sirius wasn't exactly known for his patience. What were they going to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street toward them in Hogsmeade, perhaps under the nose of Albus Dumbledore?

"I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up," said Ron. "Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears."

Harry managed to successfully hold his tongue. 

"Listen," said Hermione, when Harry had been quiet for too long. "I've been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. I've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."

"Right," said Harry vaguely, his mind still on Ron's comment. 

The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. After breakfast, they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village. With a slight pang, Harry remembered that if it hadn’t been for Sirius, he would not have been going at all.

* * *

“Where are we going anyway?” Harry asked. “The Three Broomsticks?”

“Oh - no,” said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, “no, it’s always packed and really noisy. I’ve told the others to meet us in the Hog’s Head, that other pub, you know the one, it’s not on the main road. I think it’s a bit... you know... dodgy... but students don’t normally go in there, so I don’t think we’ll be overheard.”

Harry pursed his lips. In his opinion, the Three Broomsticks would've been the better meeting place, as the constant noise and bustle would've made for a perfect cover. Of course, he'd never been to the Hog's Head, but Hermione had said that not many students went in there, so they'd stick out like a sore thumb. 

Thankfully, there was only going to be a few of them. 

::-::

There was _not_ only a few of them. The pub had been nearly filled to the brim with students and the barman didn't look too happy about it. 

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron, and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.

“Er,” said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. “Well - er - hi.”

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry.

“Well... erm... well, you know why you’re here. Erm... well, Harry here had the idea - I mean” - Harry had thrown her a sharp look - “I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us” - (Hermione’s voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) - “because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts” - “Hear, hear,” said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened - “well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.”

She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, “And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells-”

“You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?” said Michael Corner.

“Of course I do,” said Hermione at once. “But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because... because...” She took a great breath and finished, “Because we think it would be prudent for us to be able to properly defend ourselves if we're attacked.”

"By who?" asked Anthony Goldstein.

"Against those who would kill innocents without a second thought," said Hermione with a set jaw. 

Everyone looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.

“Well... that’s the plan anyway,” said Hermione, glancing at him uncomfortably. “If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to-”

“Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?” said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.

“I never said anything about-” Hermione began.

“Come off it, we know who you're talking about _,”_ said the blond boy, now looking at Harry. He narrowed his eyes. 

"And who are _you_?" said Harry. 

“Zacharias Smith,” said the boy, puffing up his chest, “and I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes you say You-Know-Who’s back.”

Harry stayed silent. He couldn't exactly take back his statement from last year, saying that Voldemort was back. Saying it now would look too suspicious and he couldn't risk Dumbledore getting involved in the matter. However, he was also hesitant to weaponize the entirety of Hogwarts against his father, mass murderer he may be. 

“Look,” said Hermione, “that’s really not what this meeting was supposed to be about-”

“Hermione,” said Harry, standing up and addressing the crowd. "Let me speak."

It had just dawned upon him why there were so many people there. He felt that Hermione should have seen this coming. Some of these people - maybe even most of them - had turned up in the hope of hearing Harry’s story firsthand.

"If you came here for me tell you what it looks like when someone is murdered right in front of you, I can't help you and I'm not going to waste my time trying," Harry said. His temper was rising again and he could feel his left hand, clasped behind his back with his right hand, starting to shake. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, determined not to look as though he was avoiding a row. 

"I'm not in the mood to entertain your fantasies, you can drink a potion for that. So those of you who came here looking for a story like a flock of _amateur journalists_ might as well clear out now."

He cast an angry look in Hermione’s direction. This was, he felt, all her fault; she had decided to display him like some sort of _freak_ (the Dursleys' words echoed in his head, that he was a freak and he would never be enough and his parents were deadbeats who deserved to die in that car crash...) and of _course_ they had all turned up to see just how wild his story was... But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry.

“So,” said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again as she avoided his gaze. “So... like I was saying... if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, and where we’re going to-”

“Is it true,” interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, “that you can produce a Patronus?”

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

“Yeah,” said Harry slightly defensively.

“A corporeal Patronus?”

The phrase stirred something in Harry’s memory and he tilted his head to the side.

“Er - you don’t know Madam Bones, do you?” he asked.

The girl smiled.

“She’s my auntie,” she said. “I’m Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Blimey, Harry!” said Lee, looking deeply impressed. “I never knew that!”

“Mum told us not to spread it around,” said Fred, grinning at Harry. “She said you got enough attention as it was.”

“She’s not wrong,” mumbled Harry and a couple of people laughed. The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat, making him narrow his eyes.

“And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office?” demanded Terry Boot. “That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year...”

“Er..." Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "yeah, I did.” 

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said 'wow' softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now.

“And in our first year,” said Neville to the group at large, “he saved that Sorcerous Stone-”

“Sorcerer’s,” hissed Hermione.

“Yes, that, from You-Know-Who,” finished Neville.

Hannah Abbott’s eyes were as round as Galleons.

“And that’s not to mention,” said Cho, “all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things...”

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table.

Harry’s insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. 

“Look,” he said and everyone fell silent at once, “I... I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff...”

“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” said Michael Corner at once. “That was a seriously cool bit of flying...”

“Yeah, well-” said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree.

“And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,” said Susan Bones.

“No,” said Harry, “no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is-”

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith.

“Here’s an idea,” said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, “why don’t you shut your mouth?”

The word 'weasel' seemed to have affected Ron particularly strongly; in any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” he said.

“That’s not what he said,” snarled Fred Weasley.

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags.

“Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred.

Harry, who'd been moments from pulling out his wand and asking Zacharias if he was willing to let Harry experiment with this curse he'd been itching to try on someone all summer, smirked. 

::-::

“Well, I think that went quite well,” said Hermione happily, as she, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog’s Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later, Harry and Ron still clutching their bottles of butterbeer.

“That Zacharias bloke’s a wart,” said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith just discernible in the distance.

“I don’t like him much either,” admitted Hermione, “but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really - I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t been going out with Ginny-”

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front.

“He’s WHAT?” said Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. “She’s going out with - my sister’s going - what d’you mean, Michael Corner?”

“Well, that’s why he and his friends came, I think - well, they’re obviously interested in learning Defense, but if Ginny hadn’t told Michael what was going on-”

“When did this - when did she-?”

“They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year,” said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant-feather quills in the window. “Hmm... I could do with a new quill.”

She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her.

“Which one was Michael Corner?” Ron demanded furiously.

“The dark one,” said Hermione.

“I didn’t like him,” said Ron at once.

“Big surprise,” said Hermione under her breath.

“But,” said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, “I thought Ginny fancied Harry!” He looked at Harry as though he expected him to say something. Instantly suspicious, Harry did his best to appear uninterested. 

Hermione looked at Ron rather pityingly and shook her head. “Ginny _used_ to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn’t like you, of course,” she added to Harry as an afterthought while she examined a long black-and-gold quill.

Harry, whose head was still full of conspiracy theories on what Ron and Ginny might be planning, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered.

“So that’s why she talks now?” he asked Hermione. “She never used to talk in front of me.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione. “Yes, I think I’ll have this one...”

She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, Ron still breathing down her neck.

“Ron,” she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, “this is exactly why Ginny hasn’t told you she’s seeing Michael, she knew you’d take it badly. So don’t harp on about it, for heaven’s sake.”

“What d’you mean, who’s taking anything badly? I’m not going to harp on about anything...”

Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street. Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and then said in an undertone, while Ron was muttering imprecations about Michael Corner, “And talking about Michael and Ginny... what about Daphne and you?”

“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly.

It was as though boiling water was rising rapidly inside him; a burning sensation that was causing his face to smart in the cold.

“Well,” said Hermione, smiling slightly, “she looks like she's having quite a good time without you, isn't she?”

Harry, who hadn't really been paying attention to his surroundings, glanced around, looking for the mane of curly hair he'd come to associate with Daphne. He found it next to Madam Puddifoot's, a tea shop he'd never entered, as it was normally filled to the brim with lovesick couples.

Daphne was sitting on a bench outside the shop, bending over and speaking sweetly to something on the floor. At her feet was a great black dog, writhing around in the snow and one of its hind legs twitching madly. 

Hermione smirked at Harry and pushed him in Daphne's direction. Ron, who seemed to have come to his senses, grabbed his arm. 

"Where you going, mate?" he asked rather rudely. 

"Gonna hang with Daphne for a bit," said Harry, now making a conscious effort to not punch Ron in his long nose. "Also, Sirius is over there so..."

Ron turned and, in the process, released Harry's arm. 

Harry winked at Hermione and she winked back, taking Ron by the arm and turning him around, saying, "Hey, Ron, isn't that Ginny and Michael?"

"WHAT?" Ron instantly turned around and started off in the direction of his sister and her boyfriend. Harry, waving Hermione over, wrapped his arm around Daphne's waist and whistled for Sirius. 

"Come on, come on," he said in a hushed voice, pulling a beanie from the inside of his robes and jamming it on his head. "Let's leave before he realizes what happened."

Spurred on by Hermione and Daphne's giggles, Harry was able to successfully lead them away from the Weasleys and to the Three Broomsticks, where some of the Slytherins were there waiting. 

"Good of you to finally join us," said Draco dryly, waving his wand and summoning two chairs from another table. "I was beginning to wonder how long that little meeting of yours would go."

"That _little meeting_ actually went fairly well," said Hermione sarcastically, though she seemed to shrink a little bit when Harry gave her a disbelieving look. "Well, we got everyone to sign the contract at least."

"Yes, that was the whole _point_ ," said Draco. "It'd be a pity if you went through all that trouble only to come back empty-handed."

Hermione's opinion of him seemed to be dropping rapidly. She opened her mouth to retort but Harry cut across her. 

"Come now," he said, opening his arms wide and smiling, "We're all friends here, aren't we? Let's be civil with one another, we don't want to cause a scene."

Draco and Hermione both deflated and she plopped into the open chair with a pout. 

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. 

"So," he said, smiling as Sirius curled around his feet. "What's your father say, Draco? Any action at the Ministry?"

"It's hard to tell," said Draco. "They're keeping it quiet, but Father says that Fudge is constantly getting owls from Umbridge."

"Sending him reports, no doubt," said Hermione darkly. "I wonder how far he'll go to gain control of Hogwarts. Surely he can't get away with interfering too much, right?"

"There's no way to know for sure," said Millicent Bulstrode, who had black hair and a heavy, jutting jaw and was new to their group. "If he has the public convinced that Dumbledore's not fit for teaching and is mobilizing the student against the Ministry, Fudge will have more than enough support to overtake the school."

"Speaking of mobilizing," Harry said. "I've been thinking... we should start our own little army."

"How do you mean?" asked Daphne, scratching Sirius behind the ears absentmindedly. 

"Well," said Harry hesitantly. "I was thinking that we start our own little task force. One made up of people who _actually_ know me."

A murmur went through the group. Harry knew how it sounded. He was asking for some of his acquaintances to swear their loyalty to him and to help him carry out certain things that he wanted. It _sounded_ like he was creating his own Death Eaters. 

"But there's only a few of us," said Theodore Nott. "How could we outnumber both the Order and your new army?"

"We don't have to outnumber them, Theo," said Harry with a small smirk. "We just have to outsmart them, _outplan_ them. And both the Order and the army are mostly Gryffindors, so it won't be ridiculously difficult."

As one, the Slytherins gave him nasty smiles and Harry knew that he had made the right choice. 

"So what would we be called?" asked Daphne, looking a bit too eager than what was normal. 

"I dunno," said Harry. "We're all going to have code names though, ones that the Order can't figure out."

"Like what?"

Harry shrugged. 

"I'm not sure, I haven't gotten that far," he said. "But we know that the Ministry is expecting Dumbledore to weaponize the school against them. We'll be fulfilling that with our _other_ secret army. But we also have to plan against Dumbledore, which makes our job twice as hard."

"Exactly," said Blaise Zabini. "Who are we going to bring into this that can help us outmaneuver both the Order and the Ministry?"

"I have some people in mind," said Harry. Nobody looked impressed. "Look, I know it's not going to be easy, but we have to establish some sort of power while also separating ourselves from organizations that already exist, so-"

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. 

"Don't tell me you're going to say what I think you're saying."

"Unfortunately, I probably am," said Harry. He took a deep breath. "We have to keep this society secret."

"Well, yeah," said Millicent, looking slightly baffled. "That's the point of a _secret_ society." 

"Yeah, but when I say secret, I mean that you can't tell anyone. The Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry of Magic, and the Death Eaters must not know that we exist."

"Oh, you mean _secret_ secret," said Pansy Parkinson, exchanging nervous glances with the rest of the Slytherins. 

Harry knew what they were worried about. For the most part, all of their parents had sworn their loyalty to Voldemort since the beginning of the First Wizarding War. For them to take part in another army was them shaming their family and possibly bringing harm to them. 

"I'm not going to force you," said Harry, looking down at the table, the thought leaving him feeling foul. "I completely understand if you don't want to-"

"What are you on about?"

Harry looked up and blinked. Everyone at the table was grinning at him. 

"What?"

"Did you seriously think we wouldn't want to do it?" said Draco incredulously. "Our parents swore their loyalty to your father, we're just keeping up the tradition. "

Harry felt his face grow hot. 

"No, that's not what I..." Harry stumbled over his words. "I hadn't meant-"

"It's alright, Harry," Pansy said, leaning over and bumping him with her shoulder. "We don't mind. Really."

"But..." Harry was having a hard time managing to string a sentence together. "Don't you-"

Sirius started growling from where he was curled around Harry's feet. Harry started and looked down at him, surprised to see that the great black dog looked ready to kill, the hairs on the back of his neck standing pin straight. 

"Padfoot, _quiet."_

They were beginning to draw attention to themselves. Patrons all around them started sending irritated glances their way, only for the students to gape at Harry Potter and Hermione Granger hanging out with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. 

"We should go," said Hermione, also noticing their predicament. 

"I agree," said Harry before whistling sharply and standing up. "Padfoot, come on."

Sirius popped to his feet and immediately started out the door, darting between peoples' legs and under tables. He jumped through the open door and immediately, there was a shrill scream from outside. 

"Oh, for gods' sake," said Harry under his breath, breaking out into a run and, yelling apologies to everyone he knocked over, sprinted after Sirius. 

Hermione followed him and together they ran after Sirius, following the trail of screams. Eventually, they stopped and looked around, ignoring the stares they were getting. 

"Where did they go?" panted Hermione, her hair whipping around her as she turned from side to side. 

"I don't know." 

Panic was gnawing at Harry now. Sirius was an escaped convict, it was dangerous for him to leave his house at all, much less run away into a crowded place where anyone could recognize him. 

_"Appare vestigium,"_ Harry whispered, and his wand emitted golden sparkles, which, when they fell onto the cobblestone ground, illuminated pawprints on the ground, leading into an alley. 

"There!" he shouted, grabbing Hermione's robes and pulling her with him. "The alley!"

They reached the alley in record time. A great black dog, crouched low to the ground and growling menacingly. It appeared to be intentionally cornering a man with dirty gray bandages covering the entirety of his head, with gaps in between the cloth for the man's eyes and mouth. Harry, recognizing him as the man at the bar in the Hog's Head, pulled out his wand and pointed it at him.

 _"Distendo!"_ he shouted, and the man screamed, instantly bringing his hands up to claw at his face. You couldn't see any skin because of the bandages, but there were two large bulges the size of small apples where his eyes were.

"Harry!" said Hermione, sounding impressed even as she seized his arm and tried to push it down. "What are you doing?"

Harry ignored her.

"Who are you?" he asked aggressively.

The man didn't answer and Sirius let out a particularly menacing growl. He barked loudly and the man let out a whimper. 

"Willy Widdershins!" he shouted to the sky, his voice hoarse. "M-my name is Willy W-Widdershins!"

Hermione snorted and Harry resisted the urge to laugh. 

"And what were you doing at the Hog's Head?" he asked instead. 

"Went there for a drink," the man said. "Is that a crime?"

_"Colloshoo! Retrorsum!"_

Widdershins let out another shout and fell to his knees, which were now facing the wrong way. It was an awkward position, as the bottoms of his feet were still firmly rooted to the ground, unable to gain any purchase. 

Harry walked forward and grabbed a fistful of the man's bandages, yanking his head back roughly and digging the tip of his wand into his throat. 

"Wrong answer," Harry hissed into the man's ear. "Tell me the truth. What were you doing in the Hog's Head?"

"Alright, alright!" shouted the man, sounding thoroughly terrified. "I was spying on Harry Potter!"

"On whose authority?"

"The Ministry, the Ministry of Magic!" 

Startled, Harry let go of the man, and he fell to the floor again, landing hard on his backward knees. 

"You're an Auror?" asked Harry, a little hurt. 

"An Auror?" The man gave a harsh cough that might've been a laugh. "No, you fool. Made a plea bargain with some chick in pink-"

In an instant, Harry's hand was yanking the man's head back again. 

"Dolores Umbridge?" he asked, digging his wand into the man's throat and ignoring the grunts of pain. "You made a plea bargain with Dolores Umbridge?"

"And the Minister himself!" said the man, sounding just as terrified as before. "He was there! They said I wouldn't get charged with Muggle-baiting if I spied on Harry Potter!"

"Ah," said Harry, trying and failing to reign in his anger, blood thumping through his head so loud he was sure it could be heard in the street. "What an interesting insight into the justice system."

Hermione, who'd been silent through the whole exchange, stepped forward, hands out in a placating manner. Harry didn't let her even open her mouth. 

Waving his wand, he canceled the spell holding Widdershins's feet to the floor. Instead of letting him fall to the floor, however, Harry grabbed him by the collar and threw him bodily into the wall behind him. There was a vile _crack_ as his skull hit the brick. 

"Now you best listen, Widdershins, 'cos this is the last time I'll _ask_." 

The man sniffled and the sound only served to irritate him further. 

"What are you gonna tell Umbridge and the Minister when they ask you what you heard?"

"That I didn't hear nothing. I promise, I’ll make them believe it!"

Harry clicked his tongue.

"I see your lips moving, Willy, but they're not making the sound I want to hear."

The tip of Harry's wand started glowing a menacing red and he put it close enough to Widdershins's swollen eyes so it could be seen through his eyelids. The man started crying. 

"P-please..." he sobbed, his voice cracking. 

Harry was losing his patience. 

" _What_ are you going to tell Umbridge and the Minister when they ask you what you heard?" 

"That Harry Potter wasn't at the Hog's Head! That-that he wasn't even in the village!"

Harry felt a thrill shoot up his spine as the gears began to turn in his head. 

"There we go," he said in a pleasant voice that said nothing of his temper. "Now _that's_ more like it."


	10. establishing dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting of the newly dubbed 'Dumbledore's Army' and Harry stops Draco from making a mistake; other things also happin in this chapter

**BY THE ORDER OF**

_**THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS** _

**All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.**

**An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.**

**Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).**

**No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.**

**Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.**

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

* * *

Harry's insides were pulsing with rage as he stalked to the Great Hall. A duplicate of the piece of parchment on the Gryffindor notice board was clutched in his fist and his heart was beating very fast. A group of second years scattered at the sight of him, clearing the way for him. He didn't really pay attention to them, though he appreciated the sentiment. 

Reaching the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was no trouble at all, especially since everyone seemed to be avoiding him like the plague. 

Hermione saw him at once. 

"Harry!" she said brightly, waving him over to where she was sitting with a group of younger students. "These third-years were just wondering if - what's wrong?"

Haltingly, Harry jerked his head in the direction of the exit. 

"I need to talk to you," he said through gritted teeth. 

She noticed the piece of parchment in his hand and she straightened. 

"Right." She turned back to the third-years. "Sorry, boys, maybe another time..."

Harry waited there for her impatiently, tapping his foot and glaring at anyone who looked at him. 

Finally, Hermione grabbed her bag and followed him out of the Great Hall. He led her to the empty classroom they were in last time, each step adding to his anger. Harry slammed the wooden door behind them with as much force as he could muster. Hermione jumped. 

"HE TALKED!" Harry roared. 

"Harry-"

"Oh ho, I'll kill him!" 

Hermione sighed. 

"Harry, please-"

"I'll find him and I'll kill him."

"Harry, listen to me-"

"He better _hope_ that Umbridge arrested him-"

"Harry-"

"-because I'm going to make sure he won't be talking to anyone-"

"Listen-"

"-ever again!"

"ANUBIS!"

Startled, Harry dropped his wand, which had at some point appeared in his hand, the holly wood clattering against the stone floor. 

"Will you please give me a _moment_ of your time?" Hermione looked incensed and Harry, fearing for his life, lowered himself into a chair. She held out her hand for the parchment and he handed it over wordlessly. 

Hermione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony. 

_How hard can it be it find someone named Willy Widdershins?_ Harry thought. 

"This is unbelievable," she said finally, crumpling up the parchment and hurling it at the wall. 

"Widdershins must've blabbed!" Harry said angrily, now thinking that Hermione might make a fine Chaser.

"How do you know?"

"Well, who else could it be?" 

"Have you ever stopped to think-" she said, pinning him to his seat with a look. "-that it might be one of the people on the list?"

Harry's eyebrows scrunched together. 

"I thought you put a jinx on-"

"I did," said Hermione grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it."

* * *

It was immediately apparent on reentering the Great Hall that Umbridge’s sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry and Hermione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny descended upon them.

“Did you see it?”

“D’you reckon she knows?”

“What are we going to do?”

They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them.

“We’re going to do it anyway, of course,” he said quietly.

“You realize she’s including Quidditch in this?” Angelina said angrily. “We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!”

 _“What?”_ said Harry.

“No way,” said Ron, appalled.

“You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry... I am saying this for the last time... Please, please don’t lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!”

“Okay, okay,” said Harry, who only stopped himself from arguing because Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself...”

* * *

_Today, same time, same place._

* * *

"...St.Mungo's... got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic... packed with nutters, apparently...”

Ron made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Ginny Weasley shrieked with glee. 

"Oi, Ron!" Harry said angrily, pulling away from Hermione. "Got something interesting to say?"

"Harry!" Ron said, still smiling, not noticing that he had drawn Harry's ire. "Mate, come here, we were just talking about-"

Something collided hard with Harry’s shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later he realized that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Ron.

“Neville, _no_!”

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaping forward and trying to grab the back of Neville's robes; Neville, however, seemed to have taken advantage of Harry's hesitation, marching right up to Ron and punching him in the face.

Blood spurted instantly from Ron's nose as he reeled backward, knocking over a surprised Ginny. 

“Help me!” Harry flung at Dean Thomas, who'd just made it to the dungeons, managing to get an arm around Neville’s neck and dragging him backward, away from the Weasleys. Dean hurried forward and seized Neville’s arms; together, he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Neville’s face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth.

“Not... funny... don’t... Mungo’s... show... him...”

"Neville, stop." Dean's voice was strained.

Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Ron, who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked. 

"What's going on here?"

Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, had arrived and he surveyed the scene with what looked like pleasant surprise on his face. 

"Malfoy!" Harry called and Draco turned to him. 

"Ah, Potter," he said, and the Gryffindors tensed. "Were Longbottom and Weasley getting into a row?"

"Mostly Weasley, to be honest," said Harry. He felt Ron's head swivel around to him and he smirked. "He provoked Neville and he retaliated."

Draco, thankfully, caught Harry's use of Neville's first name and how he had called Ron by his last name. 

"Ah," he said, turning to Ron with an evil grin on his face. "Detention, Weasley."

"What for?" asked Ron angrily, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. 

"For insulting your Housemate and provoking a fight," said Harry, making everyone present turn their eyes on him. 

The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Dean were wrestling with Neville.

“Fighting, Potter, Thomas, Longbottom?” Snape said in his cold, sneering voice.

"Not to worry, Professor," said Draco, stepping forward with a smug grin on his face. "I've already given out detentions."

“Very well," Snape said, looking at Draco appraisingly. "Inside, all of you.”

Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him.

“I had to stop you,” Harry said, discretely nodding to Draco. “If Snape had caught you...”

Neville said nothing, he merely snatched up his bag and stalked off into the dungeon.

“Wha' in the nabe of Merlin,” said Ron thickly, as Harry picked up his bag, “was _that_ about?”

Harry did not answer. He knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St. Mungo’s because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, but he had sworn to himself that he would not tell anyone Neville’s secret. Even Neville did not know that Harry knew.

Of course, there was the trivial matter of Harry's mother being one of the people who had put Neville's parents in St. Mungo's, but that wasn't important at the moment. 

* * *

Harry whipped around; Sirius’s untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.

“Hi,” he said, grinning.

“Hi,” chorused Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all three kneeling down upon the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius’s.

“How’re things?” said Sirius.

“Not that good,” said Harry, as Hermione pulled Crookshanks back to stop him singeing his whiskers. “The Ministry’s forced through another decree, which means we’re not allowed to have Quidditch teams-”

“-or secret Defense Against the Dark Arts groups?” said Sirius.

There was a short pause.

“How did you know about that?” Harry demanded, standing up and looking at Sirius in betrayal.

“You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,” said Sirius, grinning still more broadly. “The Hog’s Head, I ask you...”

“Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!” said Hermione defensively. “That’s always packed with people-”

“-which means you’d have been harder to overhear,” said Sirius. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Hermione.”

“Who overheard us?” Harry demanded.

Was it Widdershins? Or perhaps Ron and Ginny, they were both there, perhaps they were spying on Harry for Dumbledore-

“Mundungus, of course,” said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. “He was the witch under the veil.”

“That was _Mundungus_?” Harry said, stunned.

"Ha!" Hermione stood up and pointed her finger in Harry's face. "I _told_ you it wasn't Widdershins!"

"Well, it wasn't anyone on the list," replied Harry hotly, feeling embarrassed at how he'd lost his temper earlier, "so you weren't right, either!"

"Neither were you!"

"Who's Widdershins?" asked Ron. 

"SHUT UP!" Harry and Hermione yelled, glaring at each other. 

"Children, please," said Sirius, though he looked quite amused. "If I could have the floor?"

Harry sent Hermione another glare, which she returned, before they both plopped down into their seats. 

“What was he doing in the Hog’s Head?” asked Harry, desperate to change the subject.

“What do you think he was doing?” said Sirius seriously. “Keeping an eye on you, of course.”

“I’m still being followed?” asked Harry. He twisted his face into what he hoped was a mixture of surprise and anger, which wasn't too hard to fake. Thank Merlin Blaise had suggested meeting in the Three Broomsticks, otherwise Dumbledore would know of their _other_ plan. 

“Yeah, you are,” said Sirius, “and just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to do on your weekend off is organize an illegal defense group.”

But he looked neither angry nor worried; on the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride, winking at him.

“Why was Dung hiding from us?” asked Ron, sounding disappointed. “We’d’ve liked to’ve seen him.”

“He was banned from the Hog’s Head twenty years ago,” said Sirius, “and that barman’s got a long memory. We lost Moody’s spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung’s been dressing as a witch a lot lately... Anyway... First of all, Ron - I’ve sworn to pass on a message from your mother.”

“Oh yeah?” said Ron, sounding apprehensive.

“She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group. She says you’ll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also” - Sirius’s eyes turned to the other two - “advises Harry and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

"Riiiiiight," they chorused.

* * *

“OUCH!” said Harry.

He pressed the towel to his face, his eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on his forehead had seared again, more painfully than in months.

“What’s up?” said several voices.

Harry emerged from behind his towel; the changing room was blurred because he was not wearing his glasses; but he could still tell that everyone’s face was turned toward him.

“Nothing,” he muttered, “I - poked myself in the eye, that’s all...”

He did not make eye contact with anyone as they finished changing, but Ron hung back anyway as the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.

“What happened?” said Ron eagerly, the moment that Alicia had disappeared through the door. “Was it your scar?”

Harry nodded.

“But...” Looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain, “He - he can’t be near us now, can he?”

“No,” Harry muttered, sinking onto a bench and rubbing his forehead. “He’s probably miles away. He’s just... angry.”

Harry had not meant to say that at all, and heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them - yet he knew at once that they were true. He did not know how he knew it, but he did; his father, the Dark Lord Voldemort, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, was in a towering temper.

“Did you see him?” said Ron, looking horrified. “Did you... get a vision or something?”

Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet, allowing his mind and his memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain...

A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices...

“He wants something done, and it’s not happening fast enough,” he said.

Again, he felt surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet quite certain that they were true.

“But... how do you know?” said Ron.

Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms. Little stars erupted in them. He felt Ron sit down on the bench beside him and knew Ron was staring at him.

“Is this what it was about last time?” said Ron in a hushed voice. “When your scar hurt in Umbridge’s class? You-Know-Who was angry?”

Harry shook his head.

“What is it, then?”

Harry was thinking himself back. He had been looking into Umbridge’s face... His scar had hurt... and he had had that odd feeling in his stomach... a strange, leaping feeling... a _happy_ feeling... But, of course, he had not recognized it for what it was, as he had been feeling so miserable himself...

“Last time, it was because he was pleased,” he said. “Really pleased. He thought... something good was going to happen..."

Of course, he didn't tell Ron that it was probably because he'd just learned his son was alive and in Hogwarts, in contact with one of his trusted lieutenant's son.

"And the night before we came back to Hogwarts-” He thought back to the moment when his scar had hurt so badly in his and Ron’s bedroom in Grimmauld Place. “-he was _furious_...”

He looked around at Ron, who was gaping at him.

“You could take over from Trelawney, mate,” he said in an awed voice.

“I’m not making prophecies,” said Harry irritably.

“No, you know what you’re doing?” Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. “Harry, _you’re reading You-Know-Who’s mind_...”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like... his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in... Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year... He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling strong emotions, I could tell...”

There was a pause. Harry hoped that his mention of Dumbledore would put Ron's mind at ease so he could think more on the matter without having to jump through hoops in a conversation with Ron.

The wind and rain lashed at the building.

“You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron.

“I told Sirius last time.”

“Well, tell him about this time!”

“Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?”

“Well then, Dumbledore-”

“I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.”

Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, not looking at Harry, and sighed heavily.

“Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said in what was probably supposed to be an innocent voice.

Harry only just stopped himself from scowling. Had he been told that when he was still irrefutably a Potter, he might've fallen for the obvious guilt trip, as he still saw Dumbledore as the one who'd arranged for him to be saved from the Dursleys, who'd introduced him to the wizarding world, the wonderful place he'd instantly fallen in love with. But knowing what he knew now, how Dumbledore had hoped that his magic would collapse in on itself when he'd placed him with the Dursleys, how he'd kidnapped an infant in some misguided attempt to win the war, knowing how Dumbledore would kill him and Hermione if they didn't follow his plan, Harry was never going to let himself fall for a trick like that. 

So instead, he shrugged, careful to not let any trace of emotion of his face, and started walking away.

“C’mon... we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice...”

They hurried back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, not talking. Harry was thinking hard. What was is that Voldemort wanted done that was not happening fast enough?

_"...your father's working on getting you mother to join us in the long term..."_

_"...he's got other plans... plans he can put into operation very quickly..."_

_"...only get by stealth... like a weapon..."_

"Something he didn't have last time," Harry said under his breath, only half aware of his surroundings. 

"You say something, mate?" asked Ron from his right, looking at him strangely.

"Nothing," said Harry distractedly. "Just thinking out loud."

* * *

_Restricted Potions and Their Unrestricted Potential_ slipped from Harry's slack grip and landed with a dull thud on the hearthrug. His head fell sideways...

He was walking once more along a windowless corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger his heart beat fast with excitement... If he could only open it... enter beyond...

He stretched out his hand... His fingertips were inches from it...

* * *

“Well,” said Harry, slightly nervously. “This is the place we’ve found for practices, and you’ve obviously found it okay-”

“It’s fantastic!” said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement.

“It’s bizarre,” said Fred, frowning around at it. “We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then...”

“Hey, Harry, what’s this stuff?” asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.

“Dark Detectors,” said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. “Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don’t want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled...”

He gazed for a moment into the cracked Foe-Glass; three shadowy figures were moving around inside it. None were recognizable but they each had what looked like an orange halo around their head, making them look as though their heads were on fire. He turned his back on it.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and - er -” He noticed a raised hand. “Yes, Hermione?”

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione.

“Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.

“Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So - everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?”

Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very half-heartedly.

“Er - right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning. “And - what, Hermione?”

“I also think we ought to have a name,” she said brightly, her hand still in the air. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?”

“Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?” said Angelina hopefully.

“Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?” suggested Fred. 

"Oh, I _like_ that one," Harry said, grinning. 

“I was thinking,” said Hermione, frowning at Harry, “more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.”

“The Defense Association?” said Cho. “The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about?”

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” said Ginny. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?”

Harry saw Hermione wrinkle her nose and open her mouth to retort but Harry spoke first. 

"Brilliant!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "That one has potential." There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

Taking a chance, Harry turned his back to Hermione and, with his fist behind his back, bent his wrist twice. 

“All in favor of the D.A.?” said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. “That’s a majority - motion passed!”

She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and wrote DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY across the top in letters so large Harry could see them from where he was standing.

“Right,” said Harry, when she had sat down again, “shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it’s pretty basic but I’ve found it really useful-”

“Oh _please_ ,” said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. “I don’t think _expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?”

"What do _you_ suggest, then, Smith?" said Harry, rapidly losing his patience with the Hufflepuff. "What spell do you think will work better than _expelliarmus_ in a combat situation?"

Smith opened his mouth stupidly. The rest of the room was very quiet.

“But if you think it’s beneath you, you can leave,” Harry said.

Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.

“Okay,” said Harry, his mouth slightly drier than usual with all those eyes upon him, “I reckon we should-”

"Do any of you actually _believe_ him?" Came Zacharias shrill voice, calling the attention to himself. "You trust a nutter like Potter to teach us anything useful?"

Every eye was back on Harry again and he could feel his left hand beginning to shake. 

"And you were doing _so_ _well,"_ he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't shaking. 

"You know, you should really have that tremor checked out, Potter. Or are you too scared they'll chuck you in a madhouse-"

Harry whirled around, pointing his wand at Zacharias, who already had his wand out. There were a few screams as everyone hurried to get out of the way, shuffling to form a loose circle around the standoff. Harry could hear the blood pumping in his ears, nearly drowning out all other noise. 

"First day and you're already losing your temper, Potter? I'd expected bet-"

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Zacharias threw up a hasty shield that _just_ managed to block Harry's spell. Breathing harder than normal, and suddenly hyperaware that every eye was on him, Harry straightened his spine and smoothed back his hair. 

"Hermione? Be my second?"

"You won't need it," came Hermione's singsong response. 

"Yes, but it's the _principle_ of the thing."

There was a sigh from behind him and he heard Hermione step forward until she was just behind him on his right side. 

"Well, Smith?" She arched an eyebrow. "Who's your second?"

Zacharias's eyes darted around the crowd, locking on the first person he saw in Hufflepuff robes. 

"Justin," he called, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, "get over here!"

A curly-haired boy stepped forward very reluctantly: Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff who'd been Petrified in their second-year by the Basilisk. Harry, of course, had been immediately blamed for it, as he was suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin. 

Well, he _was,_ but that wasn't the point. 

"You think you're ready for this, Smith?" Harry asked, trying to sound as goading as possible. "You confident that you know more about Defense than me?"

Zacharias hesitated for a second, seeming to rethink his choice to challenge Harry to a duel before raising his wand again and yelling, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Harry brushed it aside like a cobweb. 

"Really? I thought _expelliarmus_ was beneath you," he said, shooting another spell.

Zacharius ducked.

"Oh, is that how you're going to fight off Death Eaters? By _ducking under their spells_?"

From behind him, Hermione laughed.

Twenty seconds later, Harry had cast an impediment jinx _,_ a dancing spell _,_ a tongue-tying curse _,_ and a stunning spell. And Zacharias, who was looking rather pale, had dodged them all, his wand held loosely by his side as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"Stop _moving,"_ Harry snarled as Zacharias danced out of the way of his knockback jinx. _"Colloshoo!"_

His spell hit true this time, hitting Zacharias square in the chest and ensuring that the bottoms of his feet were securely stuck to the floor. 

"That was a _lot_ more exhausting than it needed to be, Smith," sighed Harry, walking toward his opponent at a leisurely pace. "Though, to be honest, I had hoped for-"

_"Serpensortia!"_

The end of Zacharias's wand exploded. Harry watched, surprised, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed away swiftly, clearing the floor. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley slammed his palm against his face. 

Harry threw back his head and laughed, his glee echoed by Hermione's shrieks of mirth. 

"You fool," he said, clutching his side. "You absolute, utter _fool_."

Most of the Gryffindors present started laughing as well, with a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs sprinkled in. 

"What?" Zacharias's head turned from side to side, his face rapidly losing its unhealthy pallor in favor of one more resembling a beetroot. "What is it?"

Ignoring him, Harry lowered himself to one knee in front of the snake and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. He held out a hand toward the snake.

It hissed at him angrily and snapped, with Harry just barely keeping his fingers.

 _"It's alright, darling,"_ he hissed in Parseltongue, half-laughing as the color once again drained out of Zacharias's face. _"Come here."_

The snake tilted its head before slithering into his waiting palm, hissing contentedly as it coiled around his arm and situated itself around his shoulders. 

"Maybe," Harry said, stalking toward a terrified Zacharias with a smile on his face; he spoke in English this time, wanting his opponent to realize how thoroughly screwed he was, "instead of studying the Disarming Charm, we'll go back to fourth-year and work on _accio!"_

He shouted the last word, pointing his wand at Zacharias's hand. Zacharias's wand was ripped out of its owner's hand and flew into Harry's, who caught it with a smug smirk on his face. 

"Did you really think..." The snake slithered down his other arm and onto the floor. "...that would work?"

Zacharias Smith looked like he was about to cry. 

Maintaining eye contact with him, Harry tilted his head down and hissed, _"Scare him."_

It felt very odd to be issuing instructions to a snake, but not nearly as odd as seeing them followed. 

Hissing back an affirmative, the snake slithered forward and nipped at Smith's heels, still stuck to the ground. Zacharias screamed so shrilly it sounded more suited to an eight-year-old. 

_"That's enough."_

The snake curled up docilely by Zacharias's feet, making sure he stayed there no matter how long Harry's hex lasted. He turned back to the crowd, holding the two wands in his hand like trophies. Everyone watched him in silent, rapt fascination and perhaps a little bit of fear.

Harry smiled at them. 

"Any other stupid questions?"

* * *

"You know what these remind me of?"

"No, what's that?"

"The Death Eaters' tattoos. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their tattoos burn, and they know they've got to join him."

"Well, yes," said Hermione quietly, so Ron couldn't hear. "That _is_ where I got the idea from... I'd hoped it'd be enough of a parallel to scare Dumbledore a little bit... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the dates on bits of metal rather than our members' skin..."

"Yeah... I prefer your way," said Harry grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. "We'll save the tattoos for our _other_ secret society."

Hermione smacked him with the basket. 

* * *

Harry pulled his broom upward, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval. They were saved! Harry was the hero of the game, he'd saved them from a certain loss by the hands of their own Keeper-

_WHAM!_

Something hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forward off his broom; luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch’s shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina’s frantic voice.

“Are you all right?”

“’Course I am,” said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming toward one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was at this angle.

“It was that thug, Pucey,” said Angelina angrily. “He threw the Quaffle at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch - but we won, Harry, we won!”

Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by.

“Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you?” he said to Harry. “I’ve never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... Did you like my lyrics, Potter?”

Harry smiled and shook his head in an _'i-can't-believe-you-actually-did-that'_ way, turning away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. “But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, see-”

“Talk about sour grapes,” said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look and Harry struggled to stop his body from shaking with laughter. 

“-we couldn’t fit in _useless loser_ either - for his father, you know-”

Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.

Harry craned his neck around the twins and quietly - frantically - gestured for Draco to stop. 

“Leave it,” said Angelina, taking Fred by the arm. “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-”

"-but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?” said Malfoy, sneering. “Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been forced to be with Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay-”

Harry swore as loud as he could as he grabbed hold of George; meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch and saw that she was now making her way over to them, eyeing the scene with her hawk-like eyes. 

"Hooch is here," Harry hissed, just loud enough for George to hear. "Cut it out or she'll have your head."

“What's going on here?” screamed Madam Hooch, just as George stopped struggling. Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers. 

Glancing off to the side, Harry saw Professor Umbridge walking toward them.

Horror flooded him. Umbridge would surely have their brooms if she didn't outright expel them. Even though he had basically no involvement in the matter, her grudge against Harry would have him punished too and, well... that simply couldn't happen. 

Cringing internally, Harry plastered on the widest, fakest smile he'd ever had the displeasure of having on his face and whooped as loud as he could. Spinning around, he grabbed a confused George by the shoulders and shouted, "Did you see that catch? It was one in a million and I got it!"

Certain that every eye in the stands was on him, Harry whirled around and yelled to the rest of his team, "WE WON, YOU GUYS, WE WON!" 

And then he threw himself at him, fully expecting to be dropped immediately. But George, thank the gods, had caught on and started cheering with him, shaking Fred by the shoulders until he joined in too. 

Eventually, all of the Gryffindor spectators started cheering, though it was punctuated slightly by confused questions and shouts for Pucey to be punished for his illegal attack on the Seeker. 

_“Hem, hem.”_

The entire Gryffindor team spun around. Dolores Umbridge was wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant goad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery. 

"May I help, Madame Hooch?" asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. 

Blood rushed into Madame Hooch's face and Harry instantly knew that she despised Umbridge like most of the Hogwarts staff. 

"Help?" she repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, 'help'?"

Professor Umbridge moved forward, still smiling her sickly smile. 

"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."

"Not to worry, Dolores," said Madam Hooch. "I'm a big girl, I can handle a misbehaving student. But if you really want to help..."

"I would love to," Umbridge simpered, eying Harry like he was a particularly juicy fly she was about to devour. 

Madame Hooch nodded once and looked to the Slytherin team.

"Pucey, get over here!"

Umbridge's smile faltered. 

"I'm sorry, Madame Hooch, but perhaps I heard you wrong," she said. "I thought you said I would be disciplining the Gryffindors."

"No," Madame Hooch said with a thin smile. "I said that you would be disciplining the misbehaving student, which is Adrian Pucey. He attacked the Seeker after the game ended, a foul that would result in a penalty throw were the game still ongoing. But," she added, looking pleased with the look on Umbridge's face, "since Gryffindor's Seeker had already caught the Snitch, punishment must be carried out off of the pitch."

She pushed Pucey toward Umbridge and turned on her heel. 

"He's all yours."

* * *

**BY ORDER OF**

_**THE MINISTER OF MAGIC** _

**The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members.**

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-five._


	11. eyes (and heart) of the snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the vision
> 
> 'nuff said

Stumbling down the corridor was hard work. His head was pounding with each step and with each labored breath he took, he could feel an ache in his chest, as though his lungs were sore. Ron was holding one of his arms while Professor McGonagall held the other, but Harry would prefer to just lay down in the middle of the corridor, place his aching scar on the cool stone floor and close his eyes. 

Unfortunately, McGonagall and Ron seemed hell-bent on dragging him to the Headmaster's office, which seemed rational, considering that Ron's father had just been attacked. But shouldn't they be walking faster? Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and Harry was positive that his fangs - the _snake's_ fangs, they belonged to the _snake_ _-_ were poisonous. 

As they neared the entrance to Dumbledore's office, a large stone gargoyle, Harry couldn't help but feel dread well up beside the panic already simmering inside him. He hadn't spoke to Dumbledore since he and Hermione had found out his plot for the 'Greater Good'. They were somewhat anxious to be in a room along with the old man, as Hermione had quickly pointed out that there was no way the Dumbledore wasn't accomplished in Legilimens, which Harry had learned was a branch of magic that allowed a wizard or witch to essentially read someone's mind. This was especially dangerous for people who were secretly forming a third-party army to oppose both the Light and the Dark, such as Harry and Hermione. 

"Fizzing Whizbee," said Professor McGonagall in a strained voice, glancing down the bridge of her nose at Harry, who was shaking and sweating more than he did for most Quidditch games. Harry wondered if she was in on Dumbledore's plot. He dismissed the thought just as quickly, banishing it from his mind as Professor McGonagall rapped on the oak door the gargoyle had revealed. The loud voices from inside quieted immediately and the silence spoke more than the noise they were making before. 

The room was half in darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Harry instantly knew they were the ones who had been talking, seeing some of them open one eye to peek down at them and quickly letting out a loud snore when they seen Harry looking at them. Behind the door, a magnificent red-and-gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing. 

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall.. and... _ah._ " 

It was the irritating way that the last part was said that drew Harry from his intense staring match with a timid looking wizard in one of the older portraits. Dumbledore was sitting in the high-backed chair behind his desk that Harry had always secretly thought looked like a throne. Papers were spread out before him, illuminated by the flames of the candles floating in a loose semi-circle around the large desk. His light-blue eyes seemed to be looking anywhere but Harry, instead fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall. 

“Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a... well, a nightmare,” said Professor McGonagall with - was that a hint of worry in her voice? “He says...”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” said Harry quickly, not about to let the severity of his vision be downplayed.

Professor McGonagall looked around at Harry, frowning slightly.

“Very well, then, Potter, you tell the headmaster about it.”

“I... well, I _was_ asleep...” said Harry and even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand he felt more than a little irritated that the headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. “But it wasn’t an ordinary dream... it was real... I saw it happen...” He took a deep breath, “Ron’s dad — Mr. Weasley — Nagini attacked him.”

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.

It was at this point that Harry began to wonder how he knew the name of the snake. 

“How did you see this?” Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry, who resisted the urge to scoff. Two could play at this game.

“Inside my head, I suppose,” said Harry snidely, ignoring the sharp look his Head of House threw him.

“You misunderstand me,” said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone, still avoiding looking anywhere near Harry. “I mean... can you remember where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?”

This was such a curious question; it was almost as though he _knew_...

“I...,” Harry trailed off, forcing himself to stand tall and look the Headmaster right in the eye. "Headmaster, could you please just tell me what's-?"

“Is Arthur seriously injured?” Dumbledore inturrupted.

"Do you not realize how much a person bleeds when three-inch fangs pierce their side?" Harry sneered without thinking, his temper flaring suddenly. He took a deep breath before saying in a voice of determined calm, "Yes, I would say he is."

Dumbledore stood quickly, addressing one of the older portraits handing very near the ceiling.

"Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys!" 

A sallow-faced wizard with short, black bangs and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

“You were listening?” said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded, the witch said, “Naturally.”

“The man has red hair and glasses,” said Dumbledore. “Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people-”

Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighboring pictures (as usually happened at Hogwarts), neither reappeared; one frame now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtains, the other a handsome leather armchair. Harry couldn't help but notice Dumbledore's wording. The 'right people' sounded like Mr. Weasley was doing something illegal; something secret, perhaps, for the Order of the Phoenix? 

“Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts’s most celebrated Heads,” Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry, Ron, and Professor McGonagall and approaching the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. “Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important Wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere...”

“But Mr. Weasley could be anywhere!” said Harry, trying to dig for Mr. Weasley's location, or what he was doing for the Order.

“Please sit down, all three of you,” said Dumbledore, as though Harry had not spoken. “Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes... Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs...”

Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and waved it; three chairs appeared out of thin air, straight-backed and wooden, quite unlike the comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured back at Harry’s hearing.

Harry sat down, watching Dumbledore over his shoulder. Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes’s plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.

“We will need,” said Dumbledore very quietly to the bird, “a warning.”

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.

Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again, and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed, and after a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air. A serpent’s head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry wondered whether the instrument was confirming his story and went to look to Dumblefore for a confirmation, but found that he couldn't tear his gaze away from the snake made of smoke. 

“Naturally, naturally,” murmured Dumbledore, his voice sounding tiny and far away. “But in essence divided?”

Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air.

Harry watched their dance with a blank face, his mouth slightly parted. There was a fuzz in the back of his mind and his vision narrowed so that it was only focused on the two snakes. There was something facinating about them, something he couldn't figure out. He knew what it was, he _knew_ what it meant. It was on the tip of his tongue...

Deep within his chest, Harry felt something crack, not unlike a crystal ball, and he started, pressing a hand to his chest and finding it a bit hard to draw in air. He closed his eyes and focused on the increasingly difficult task of breathing. 

With a feeling of growing horror, Harry realized that there was something _in_ that crystal ball, something in _him._ It moved a bit and Harry could feel the shift and the _thing_ \- whatever it was - seemed to grow excited. 

Maybe it was because of the crack, Harry thought. He had never felt it move before; not once in his life would he have ever suspected that there was something else inside him. It didn't feel _bad,_ but it didn't feel _natural,_ either. It was something else, something extra. Something that wasn't _his,_ but still felt like it belonged to him. 

Harry looked up and saw that the smoke serpents had vanished.

The snake inside him remained. 

There was a shout to his right and Harry looked up to the top of the wall; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly. Harry's heart quickened its beats and he suddenly felt full of energy, as though adrenaline was pumping through his veins.

“Dumbledore!”

“What news?” said Dumbledore at once.

“I yelled until someone came running,” said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, “said I’d heard something moving downstairs - they weren’t sure whether to believe me but went down to check - you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn’t look good, he’s covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg’s portrait to get a good view as they left-”

“Good,” said Dumbledore as Ron made a convulsive movement, “I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then-”

And moments later, the silver-ringletted witch had reappeared in her picture too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, “Yes, they’ve taken him to St. Mungo’s, Dumbledore... They carried him past under my portrait... He looks bad...”

“Thank you,” said Dumbledore. He looked around at Professor McGonagall.

“Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.”

“Of course...”

Professor McGonagall got up and moved swiftly to the door; Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was now looking at him with a terrified look on his face.

“And Dumbledore - what about Molly?” said Professor McGonagall, pausing at the door.

“That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,” said Dumbledore. “But she may already know... that excellent clock of hers...”

Harry, despite the blood roaring in his ears, knew Dumbledore was referring to the clock that told, not the time, but the whereabouts and conditions of the various Weasley family members, and with a pang he thought that Mr. Weasley’s hand must, even now, be pointing at 'mortal peril'. But it was very late... Mrs. Weasley was probably asleep, not watching the clock... And he felt cold as he remembered Mrs. Weasley’s boggart turning into Mr. Weasley’s lifeless body, his glasses askew, blood running down his face... But Mr. Weasley wasn’t going to die... He couldn’t...

Harry felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest and he dimly registered that his left hand was beginning to shake.

Dumbledore was now rummaging in a cupboard behind Harry and Ron. He emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which he placed carefully upon his desk. He raised his wand and murmured _'_ _Portus'_ ; for a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light, then it quivered to a rest, as solidly black as ever.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colors of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore’s voice when he attempted to rouse him.

“Phineas. _Phineas_.”

And now the subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name too.

“Phineas! _Phineas!_ PHINEAS!”

He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide.

“Did someone call?”

“I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas,” said Dumbledore. “I’ve got another message.”

“Visit my other portrait?” said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes traveling around the room and focusing upon Harry). “Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight...”

Something about Phineas’s voice was familiar to Harry. Where had he heard it before? But before he could think (his heart was beating too fast to think straight anyway) the portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

“Insubordination, sir!” roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. “Dereliction of duty!”

“We are honor-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!” cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s predecessor, Armando Dippet. “Shame on you, Phineas!”

“Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?” called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.

“Oh, very well,” said the wizard called Phineas, eyeing this wand slightly apprehensively, “though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he’s done most of the family-”

“Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait,” said Dumbledore, and Harry realized immediately where he had heard Phineas’s voice before: issuing from the apparently empty frame in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. “You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?”

Harry felt an unbidden spark of indignation ignite the flames of anger within him. He didn't know why or how, but he was suddenly blindingly angry and he had to bite his cheek to keep from talking, as he didn't know what he would say if given the chance.

“Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children and Harry Potter coming to stay,” recited Phineas in a bored voice. “Yes, yes... very well...”

He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment that the study door opened again. Fred, George, and Ginny were ushered inside by Professor McGonagall, all three of them looking disheveled and shocked, still in their night things.

“Harry - what’s going on?” asked Ginny, who looked frightened. “Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt-”

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,” said Dumbledore and Harry snapped his mouth shut, the anger within him dimming somewhat, feeling vindicatetd at having guessed right. “He has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius’s house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there.”

“How’re we going?” asked Fred, looking shaken. “Floo powder?”

“No,” said Dumbledore, “Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.” He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. “We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you-”

“He says he’ll be delighted,” said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. “My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests...”

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, turning his back to them. "Hopefully, there will be-"

He couldn't hold it in any longer. His anger at Dumbledore, both old and new, needed to find an outlet _now._

"LOOK AT ME!"

Harry was shaking with rage (was it his? or was it the thing inside him?) and he knew everyone was looking at him as though he had lost his mind but he didn't care. It was nothing new, nothing he hadn't experienced before - the Chamber of Secrets incident came to mind - so he shook it off, only focusing on Dumbledore. 

He had turned around at Harry's outburst, his long silver beard swishing through the air. He still wasn't looking him in the eye, instead focusing on Harry's forehead, on the lightning scar. Another burst of anger - _that's the only part of me he cares about, isn't it? -_ and Harry opened his mouth again, well aware that everyone was watching, well aware of the fury that was twisting his face, well aware that the words he was about to say would surely be more trouble than they were worth, well aware of the tremor in his left hand-

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

“It is Fawkes’s warning,” said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell and acting as though nothing strange had happened. “She must know you’re out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off - tell her any story-”

Professor McGonagall gave Harry a worried look and was gone in a swish of tartan.

“Come here, then,” Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys. “And quickly, before anyone else joins us...”

Harry bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood and as the coppery taste exploded in his mouth, he jerkily forced his limbs to carry him to Dumbledore's desk. The others followed.

“You have all used a Portkey before?” asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. “Good. On the count of three then... one... two...”

It happened in a fraction of a second: In the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said 'three', Harry looked up at him and Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry’s face.

At once, Harry’s scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open - and his vision tunneled once again, though everything was now tinged red. The crystal ball inside him cracked even more and unbidden, unexpected, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, that he would like nothing better than to strike, to bite, to sink his fangs - _yes, his venom will cause a very slow and very painful death -_ into the man before him. He wanted to rush at Dumbledore and make him break, make him scream; to shatter that calm, decrepit face, make him _hurt -_

"... three."

A familiar yank behind his navel and Dumbledore's office swirled in a distracting kaleidescope of colors, and Harry felt far too much like his prey had escaped. 

* * *

“Sirius,” Harry muttered, unable to stand making breakfast as though nothing was wrong for a moment longer. “Can I have a quick word? Er - _now_?”

He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley, a fact he hadn't deigned to tell either Dumbledore or the Weasleys.

“Did you tell Dumbledore this?”

“No,” said Harry tiredly, “not the snake part, at least. I'm certain he knows, though. That question was far too specific for him to not have known...”

“I’m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,” said Sirius steadily, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

"He doesn't _tell_ me anything anymore," said Harry angrily, the stress of the night making his voice crack. "I don't blame him." His voice sounded sullen even to his own ears. "If I'm being possessed-"

"'Possessed'?" Sirius looked worried. "What d'you mean, 'possessed'?"

"I mean 'possessed'," said Harry in a voice only a little above a whisper. “It's either that or I’m going mad... Back in Dumbledore’s office, just before we took the Portkey... for a couple of seconds, I thought I was a snake, I felt like one - my scar was burning when I was looking at Dumbledore - Sirius, I wanted to attack him-”

“It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that’s all,” said Sirius, twisting the Lordship ring on his finger absentmindedly. “You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and-”

“It wasn’t that,” said Harry, shaking his head, deadly certain. “It was like something rose up inside me, like there’s a snake inside me-"

And he launched into the feelings he'd had while with Dumbledore: the cracking of the glass ball, the piece of _something_ within him that didn't feel like _him_ , the sudden anger he'd had that refused to be ignored.

“You need to sleep,” said Sirius firmly. “Go upstairs to bed and then you can go and see Arthur after lunch with the others."

Harry, not at all convinced, opened his mouth to voice his concerns, but Sirius cut across him cleanly.

"You’re in shock, Harry," he said kindly but firmly. "Get some sleep and we'll talk about this when you wake up.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder and guided him out of the pantry. 

Every head in the kitchen swiveled toward them and Mrs. Weasley sauntered up to them with a steaming plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. 

"Harry, dear," she said with a smile. "I've got your food here. I imagine you're hungry after everything that's happened." She held out the plate of food toward him and Harry found himself leaning forward, practically drooling. It smelled _heavenly_. So what if a few seconds ago he was feeling quite bilious when there was this amazingly mouth-watering plate of food right in front of him?

Sirius's hand tightened on his shoulder to an almost painful degree. 

"Actually," he said in a strained voice, "Harry's not feeling quite well at the moment, I was just about to take him to bed."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley disappointedly, looking at Harry. "Are you quite sure, dear?"

Harry reluctantly pulled his gaze from the plate. "Positive, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you though."

Without further hesitation, Sirius steered Harry toward the stairs to the second floor. He'd stayed there during the last month of summer after his argument with Ron. Harry, fully expecting to be led to the same bedroom, was thrown for a loop when Sirius instead made a left and led him down another hallway, at the end of which there was a lone door. 

"Sirius, what are we-?"

"Hush, pup," Sirius said, glancing over his shoulder as though he thought they were being followed. "Gotta make sure first."

"Make sure of-?"

_"Shh."_

Slightly insulted, Harry clamped his mouth shut and was silent for the rest of the way to the door. Once they reached it, Sirius took out his wand and started waving it in intricate patterns while muttering under his breath. Harry was reminded of when he'd first found out his true identity as Tom Riddle's son, when Sirius had to weave his way through the wards guarding the drawing room. This door, wherever it led, seemed to be under the same protection. 

"Come on, cub," Sirius said as the door opened with a click. He ushered Harry through. "Can't take any chances, now can we?"

"Can't take any chances with-?"

"Just a minute, pup, we're almost there." Sirius was now waving his wand again at the closed door.

Harry let out a little noise of irritation before sticking his tongue out at Sirius's back and turning away to examine the room. 

It was about medium-sized for a library, about as big as the empty classroom Hermione had been training him in during the Triwizard Tournament. Tables were set up in the middle of the room, each with what looked like a small bonfire in the center and four chairs. Large bookshelves lined the walls, each stuffed chock full of leather-bound tomes with shimmery writing on the spines. 

As he took in the titles - _Dark Spells and What To Do With Them, History of the Dark,_ and one that was simply titled _Undetectables -_ he abruptly realized that the entire library was dedicated to the dark arts. 

The thing inside him stirred excitedly and Harry couldn't help but sympathize with it. The Dark Arts was a subject that had never been taught at Hogwarts, at least in recent years, and he was more than willing to learn any type of obscure magic that might prolong his life. At least until he told his parents who he was. If they still wanted to kill him after that, they should really go to therapy. 

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Sirius was still flapping his arms in front of the door, replacing the many many wards that protected the room. After a second's hesitation, Harry grabbed a random book from one of the shelves deeper inside the library and opened it to a random page. 

> _Soul magic is one of the hardest forms of magic to master, requiring immense magical power to even attempt. Repeated exposure tends to lead to loss of consciousness, faintness, and nosebleeds while prolonged exposure normally leads to the loss of one's marbles._
> 
> _One branch of soul magic is one of the darkest arts in the magical world, which is why I included it in an earlier chapter. Horcruxes, more obscurely known as soul pieces, have the potential to prolong someone's life even if they are fatally struck down in battle. The process to-_

Harry stopped reading, startled. Placing his thumb to save his page, he closed the book and glanced at the front cover. _Dangers of Soul Magick,_ it read, the letters shimmering like a mirage in the middle of the desert. 

He gasped quietly, the sudden intake of breath feeling like he cracked a knuckle. He knew, instinctively, that there was another crack in the glass ball. 

* * *

Sirius had been adamant to do a full health check on his once he'd finished with the wards. 

"Have you been using the diagnostic spell I taught you?" he'd asked, waving his wand around Harry in slow arcs. 

"Yes," Harry sighed. 

"And the preventative potions have been working well?"

"Like a charm."

"And nothing yet?"

"Nothing so far," Harry corrected. "I have a feeling I scared them off the first time I found something in my pumpkin juice."

"What did you find?" Sirius asked, pausing in his work. 

Harry shrugged. "Just a basic compulsory potion," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I made it clear to Ron that I wouldn't stop doing it now that Voldemort was back and he seemed to buy it. I haven't found anything else, at least."

"And Hermione? Has she found anything?"

"Not that I know of," said Harry, now immensely relieved that Hermione hadn't come to Grimmauld Place as well; she would've eaten the food Mrs. Weasley had prepared, which Sirius had told Harry was laced with something. "Everything seems to be going smoothly."

"Good," said Sirius, finally sitting down next to Harry. "And you've been playing nice with the Weasleys?"

"Overly nice, one might say," said Harry, flipping through the book he'd picked from the bookshelf, "I doubt they suspect anything, though Ron threw a wobbly when he'd heard I was dating a pureblood Slytherin."

"Ah, speaking of Slytherins," said Sirius, leaning forward conspiratorially, "we do need to talk about the ball."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The ball?" he repeated. The Yule Ball had been exclusively for the Triwizard Tournament, brought back for the sake of tradition and whatnot- 

"Oh, don't tell me you forgot!"

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to answer. "Forgot about what?" 

Sirius buried his head in his hands and his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "And you were so excited about it!" he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. 

"In case you haven't noticed," Harry said, feeling a bit peeved at being in the dark, "I've been kind of busy in the last twenty-four hours but forgive me if I've forgotten about anything of deadly importance."

That sobered Sirius up. "You're right." He was still chuckling. "The ball that Cissa is throwing for Yule," he reminded Harry, whose eyes blew wide with horror. 

"The ball!" he repeated agonizingly, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Draco was going to teach me to dance before we went! How are we going to-?"

"Don't worry," Sirius said with a smile that immediately had Harry on edge. "I've got a plan."

* * *

"I wouldn't make a fuss about it," Tonks had whispered to Harry when she'd appeared to escort them to St. Mungo's. "As far as I know, we don't have any Seer blood in our family."

"Shouldn't that make me more worried, though?" Harry asked. "I mean, I'm having visions but I'm not related to any Seers?"

"You could be the first, of course," Tonks had said with a wink. "But seeing as you're seeing the present and not the future, I doubt you're anything close to a Seer."

"..."

Feeling vaguely insulted, Harry was silent for the rest of the trip. 

* * *

"...they searched the whole area but they couldn’t find the snake anywhere, it just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur... But You-Know-Who can’t have expected a snake to get in, can he?"

"I reckon he sent it as a lookout,” growled Moody, "'cause he’s not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he’s trying to get a clearer picture of what he’s facing and if Arthur hadn’t been there the beast would’ve had much more time to look around. So Potter says he saw it all happen?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this..."

Harry's blood ran cold. So he was right. Dumbledore knew something he didn't when it came to Harry's visions. His question about Harry's perspective in his vision had been too on the nose for it to have just been a normal question.

"Yeah, well," said Moody, "there’s something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that."

"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," whispered Mrs. Weasley.

"'Course he’s worried,” growled Moody. “The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake... Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him-”

Harry ripped the Extendable Ear out of his own, his heart hammering very fast and heat rushing up his face. He looked around at the others; he wasn't expecting them to figure this out so fast, even if it wasn't the case. They were all staring at him, the strings still trailing from their ears, looking suddenly fearful. 

They were... _afraid_ of him?

His mouth opened and closed silently, unable to get any words out. Was that why Dumbledore was afraid to meet his eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Or perhaps he was expecting molten silver to jump out at any second, revealing what he had tried to keep secret for so long.

He took in the others' pale faces, their freckles standing out even more than usual, their wide eyes. And then, without another attempt at speaking, Harry turned on his heel and walked away. 

* * *

_I’m the weapon_ , Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with train's movements on the way back from the hospital. _I’m the one Voldemort’s trying to use, that’s why they’ve got guards around me everywhere I go, it’s not for my protection, it’s for other people’s, only it’s not working, they can’t have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts..._

But how would that work? Was there some sort of spell that Voldemort had cast on him in the graveyard that allowed them to pry into each other's mind? Or perhaps it was because the resurrection ritual required Harry's blood. _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken - you will resurrect your foe..._

That could be it, Harry thought. There seemed to be no other explanation, as normal fathers and sons don't have the ability to read each other's thoughts.

But normal fathers and sons share blood naturally, not just because of some obscure dark ritual-

Halfway through reading an advertisement for home insurance, Harry froze. That's right! It was a _dark_ ritual, which meant that there was probably something on it in the library back at Grimmauld Place!

Against his better judgment, Harry snorted, causing Mrs. Weasley to look at him curiously. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying his hardest to not let them see his face. "Allergies."

Mrs. Weasley merely shook her head and chuckled, turning away from him once more. 

Harry did his best to make his face a blank canvas, though his mind was working at a million miles per second. As soon as they got back, he would drag Sirius by his coattails to the library to investigate. Something, whether it be some sort of ritual or spell of some sort, has to allow them to leave Grimmauld Place for for the Yule Ball his Aunt was throwing. This would be his chance to ask the rest of the Slytherins their thoughts on his 'possession'. 

Yes, Harry thought, a wayward smile blooming on his face. This would be a _very_ interesting Yule. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read Evitative by Vichan
> 
> ...ju-just do it...


	12. Hogwarts: A History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As our protagonist leaves to celebrate Yule, his cousin gives him an impromptu history lesson that delves into the creation of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me yet, read the chapter first

Yule was an ancient holiday. 

Meant to be celebrated with immediate family, the holiday celebrated the waning of the dark and the return of the light. It took place on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year before the days started getting longer. 

December 21st landed on a Thursday this year, which was an odd day for a Yule celebration in Anubis's opinion, but Draco had very patiently explained to him that Yule was meant to be celebrated with family. The Ministry of Magic had passed a law saying that all businesses were required to close and give their employees the day off to spend with their families no matter what part of the week the sacred day landed on. 

_"It's kind of sad," Draco had said. "Only the ancient wizarding families even observe the old traditions, now. The newer ones only observe the Muggle holidays, like Christmas and Halloween."_

_"Those aren't so bad though," said Harry._

_"They might not be," Draco hummed, "but you'll like these even better. Trust me, you won't want to go back."_

Anubis was positive that Draco had said that for the sole purpose of getting him intrigued in the ancient holidays and it had worked. The days leading up to the solstice were spent in the library, researching the various pagan holidays that had been observed by ancient wizards for centuries.

Samhain, the pagan equivalent of Halloween, had already passed in October and it symbolized the start of the pagan new year. Yule, the pagan equivalent of the Muggle holiday of Christmas, is the day when the darkest half of the year relinquishes its power to the lighter half. Imbolc has gradually morphed into Valentine's Day, even though it takes place on February 2nd. On the spring equinox, there was Ostara, the holiday that celebrates the balance between night and day. Beltane is generally the day to celebrate fertility and it is because of this that many pureblood and half-blood children at Hogwarts had birthdays in February. Litha is on the summer solstice and has the shortest night of the year, and most families that still observe the holiday, hold a sunrise vigil. Lammas was the day for trial marriages (unbidden, Anubis thought of ice blue eyes and curly golden hair) and a contest of strength and skill. Mabon is on the fall equinox and is more about reflection than any of the others, sort of like the American Thanksgiving. 

While it was interesting to read about all the different pagan holidays and how they were observed by the wizards of old, Anubis found his attention drawn to Yule, and he poured over endless tomes, soaking up every bit of knowledge he could. 

Yule began at sunset on the winter solstice, at the beginning of the longest night of the year, and ended at sunrise, at which point you would send a prayer to Lady Magic to watch over you and your family in the coming year, to bring you good fortune and health and whatnot. It was all very heartwarming, but one passage of text Anubis stumbled upon was stuck in his mind for days. It read:

> Contrary to popular belief, the pagan holidays of old are not inherently evil, as most Light wizards have led the general public to believe. These old wizarding holidays focus on blood. Not the purity of blood, but the blood that you share with family. And even if you've found family in a close friend (perhaps you were brothers in arms or sisters of the sword), you can include them in your Yule celebration as well. 
> 
> Blood purism, often thought to be a Dark trait, is mostly taken out of context. The significance of blood is celebrated on Yule, but it is more focusing on the shared blood between kin, not on how many wizards you have had in your family. 

* * *

The day of the winter solstice went like any other day, other than Harry waking up exceptionally early. Feeling excited to wake up was something he only really felt on the first of September, the first day of term at Hogwarts and the day he left Number Four, Privet Drive. 

"I wish they celebrated Yule," said Hermione to him during breakfast, referring to the Weasleys. "At least it could be one of their redeeming qualities."

Harry, seeing the wistful expression on her face, suddenly felt incredibly guilty for ranting to her about his excitement for today. "You could come with me, you know," he said. "I'm sure Draco wouldn't mind."

"Actually," she said simply, sipping her coffee, "I'm confident he would strongly object to my presence."

"Nah, you don't know him that well, anyway," Harry said, hiding his grin by shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

Hermione hummed into her coffee, peering at him over the rim of her cup in a way that reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "Besides-" she spread orange marmalade over her toast, "-it's tradition to spend Yule with your family and you've _just_ found yours. I wouldn't want to intrude." 

Harry gave her a dry look. "Hermione, we've been friends since we were eleven. Since then we've knocked out a mountain troll, killed a teacher - oh, don't be such a prude," he added to Hermione as she let out a startled squeak. "-closed the Chamber of Secrets, survived a werewolf attack, saved a serial killer, and survived a certain Dark Lord _again._ " He paused to take another bite of his eggs. "I think we're pretty much family."

"Yes, but still," Hermione said, drinking nearly half her coffee in one go. "I doubt the Malfoys would approve of you bringing a Muggleborn into their mansion."

Harry puffed up indignantly. "I don't care what they-"

 _"Shh!"_ Hermione glanced around and, upon seeing that everyone in the immediate vicinity was preoccupied with their food, poked him sharply in the thigh with her fork. 

Smothering the scream that threatened to escape him, Harry gripped her wrist and jerked it away from him. Hermione looked entirely nonplussed. 

"That hurt," he said pointedly. 

"Oh, don't feel too sorry for yourself," Hermione said, picking up her copy of the Daily Prophet and taking another sip from her cup. "Next time I won't miss."

Harry choked on his bacon.

* * *

The sun started dipping in the sky at around four in the afternoon, the normal time for a winter day. December rarely brought snow to London, but it was still bitterly cold. Every time Harry exhaled, he brought a crystalized cloud to life and it dissipated like dust in the wind. 

His rough childhood hadn't really prepared him for the cold London streets. While Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley all had the latest in winter fashion, Harry had been stuck with threadbare blankets and moth-eaten sweaters. He'd always been quite susceptible to the cold, underweight and overworked as he was.

During one of Dudley's birthdays, he'd nearly gotten frostbite because the Dursleys had forgotten to unlock the doors after making him break the ice and sleet off of the driveway. He had gotten excited because the police had been called after one of the neighbors spotted him in between the rose bushes, huddled into a ball to conserve what little warmth his body had. Unfortunately, the Dursleys had been able to spin it off as a delinquent child trying to cause chaos and the police believed it. And so began Harry's reputation as the neighborhood bad boy, with a scarred face and loose, ill-fitting clothes, always causing trouble. 

Still, sitting on the steps of 12 Grimmauld Place was more relaxing than he expected, despite the cold threatening to make his nose fall off. He was waiting for Sirius, who said he had to cast the last few notice-me-not charms and give Hermione her final instructions. 

Rubbing his hands together, Harry watched the people passing by with slight interest. One woman was walking her dog, a Bull Terrier with what looked like boots on its paws and a black spot on one eye. Another was sitting on a bench reading a book called _A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_. A man with an umbrella walked past him, wearing a double-breasted pinstriped suit and glasses, and he swore his heart stopped when the man's eyes glanced over to him and winked. Harry slipped a hand inside his coat, closing a fist around his wand and standing up, giving the man a hard look while all the while reassuring himself that the man couldn't see him. But the man simply saluted him with his umbrella and smiled. 

Harry blinked and the man was gone. 

The door behind him opened suddenly and Harry most certainly did not jump, though he did whirl around, heart pounding. 

A woman with black hair was standing in the doorway, hand clutching a leash with a large black dog at the end of it. 

"Wotcher, Harry," she said, winking at him and waving a piece of her hair out of her face. "Bit chilly out here, isn't it?"

"Tonks?" Harry asked, astonished, as she seemed to have forgone her signature bubble gum pink hair for the occasion. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I work here?" Tonks said, closing the door behind her while the dog sat on the first stair. She turned to meet Harry's unimpressed expression and she rolled her eyes, a vivid green that matched his own. "Don't look at me like that. You remind me of my mother."

"Wow, it's almost like we're related," said Harry sarcastically, petting the dog absentmindedly. 

Tonks let out a bark-like laugh. "Well, we've all got a sense of humor, that's for sure." She handed the leash to Harry before stuffing her hands in her pockets. She walked down the stairs and tripped on the way down, catching herself on the railing.

The dog next to Harry let out what sounded like a cough, but was most certainly a laugh.

"Oh, shut up, Sirius," said Tonks with no real ire, brushing her hands off on her coat. "Come on, it's almost time." 

She was right; the sun was even lower on the horizon now, casting an orange glow across the sky. Hurriedly, Harry wrapped Sirius's leash around his wrist and followed Tonks down the street. 

"Where are we going?" he asked her. 

"We need to reach the border of the wards," she replied. "We can't apparate inside the wards, otherwise Dumbledore will know we've gone." She slipped on the wet concrete, catching herself at the last minute. "Even if we're late a few minutes," she continued as though nothing had happened, "it'll be worth making sure that our disappearance goes unnoticed."

Harry nodded. "Is that why you're coming along?" he asked. "To make sure we get past the wards?"

"Well, yes and no," Tonks said. "This is the first year we're having Yule with most of the family back together again." She smiled before throwing herself at him in an awkward side hug, ruffling his hair. "When our parents were kids, they celebrated together with their parents. When my mum and dad got together, she started her own traditions with us. Your mum and dad did their own thing too, like Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius." She grew quiet and Harry was suddenly struck with the thought that she was seven years older than him, so she probably remembered him as a baby, and a time when both of his parents weren't dead or incarcerated... "Still," she said, shaking her head slightly, "it'll be nice to see all of the family together again."

"Most of it anyway," Harry said without thinking and he had to restrain himself from smacking himself in the face. 

"Oh, I-" Tonks looked very uncomfortable. "Well, any-anyway, I-"

"Bloody buggering fu-" Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, at least not in that way-"

"No, it's fine," said Tonks, and the tips of her hair lightened, "I suppose it's my fault really-"

"Do you remember my parents?"

Tonks sent him a strange look. "I don't remember much," she said finally. "I must've been only around six or seven when you were born, and we never really got together before that other than your parents' wedding..."

"Who was that man over there?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject.

Tonks gave him a weird look before slipping a hand inside her coat. "What man?"

"There was a man across the street before we left," said Harry. "He was in a suit."

"Was he wearing glasses?"

Harry blinked. "Er... yeah?"

Tonks relaxed and took her hand out of her pocket. "Oh," she said, waving him off. "It's probably just a Kingsman."

"A what?"

"A kingsman." Tonks blew a piece of hair out of her eye. "They're sort of a secret society made up of Muggles."

Harry blanched. "The _Muggles_ have a secret society?"

Tonks nodded. "Yeah. The Kingsmen are sort of our segway into the Muggle world. We work with them and they work with the English, Scottish, Irish and Welsh governments." She shrugged. "I met one once. His name was Galahad."

Harry snorted. "Galahad?"

"Well, it was a codename, obviously." Tonks rolled her eyes. "I don't know his real name, but all the Kingsmen use them. Helps promote anonymity and all that."

Harry thought for a moment. "Does the Ministry do that too?"

Tonks shook her head. "No, we just use our last names. Auror Tonks and Auror Moody, for example." She shrugged again. "The Ministry says that since we're public servants, our names should be public too."

"But don't you stand the risk of putting your families in danger?"

Tonks paused. "I suppose," she said hesitantly. "But the Ministry is painting the Death Eaters as cowards for not showing their faces and revealing their identities. Says they have something to hide." She waved her hand. "It's alright, though. As the niece of an Inner Circle member, I'm protected from attacks. Not that the Death Eaters go about attacking everyone," she said as he paled. "Just if they have to go about attacking the Ministry, I'll get advanced notice so I can clear out and get anyone else out that I want to be protected."

"So who attacked all those people in the first war?" asked Harry, who sort of regretted asking before he was going so what was essentially a family reunion. "I've read about so many people being attacked - _killed_ even - and all of that was blamed on the Death Eaters." He paused, taking a deep breath. "So if the Death Eaters didn't exactly go around killing people, who did?"

Tonks hesitated, then sighed. "I'm not going to pretend that there isn't prejudice in this world, in _our_ world. A lot of wizards don't like letting Muggleborns learn magic. Ever since the witch hunts-"

"Like the Salem witch hunts?" Harry interrupted, his eyebrow furrowing. 

"No, you tosspot. This is Britain, not America." Tonks shook her head, laughing. "Besides, the American witch trials happened a good five or six centuries after the hunts here." She took a deep breath. "Let me tell you a story. Almost all purebloods tell it to their children, as my mother did to me. It starts almost ten centuries ago, when Hogwarts was founded..."

_Long ago, there were four great friends named Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. United by the common goal of passing along their skills, they founded a school and each took on students that were like them: brave or intelligent or loyal or cunning. They took in students of all backgrounds, whether they were pureblood, half-blood, or Muggleborn. There was no prejudice back then, only unity. There was something eerily close to harmony, until the Great Hunt._

"What's the Great Hunt?"

_The Muggles had somehow found out about our world and, overcome with greed and lust for power, they sought to control us._

"They used to put us in cages and throw us into the ocean. If we survived, we were magical and therefore evil, therefore demonic. Since we survived water, they burned us. If we didn't survive, we were 'normal', just like them, and they held a funeral service for us, asking the spirits for the power to snuff out a proper witch next time."

"What a load of rubbish."

"Too right it is." 

_Everything was fine at Hogwarts, though. No students had been injured and everyone's families were safe. The spells put on the school and the wizarding settlements kept everyone protected. The chances that anyone would get hurt were slim to none._

"But then what happened?"

"I'm getting there, calm down."

_Like I said before, each of the founders took on students, but they also took on apprentices. Each founder only taught about one or two apprentices, as there weren't a lot of students in the school to begin with. One of Slytherin's apprentices was a Muggleborn student named-_

"A Muggleborn?!"

"Yes, a Muggleborn."

"But what about-"

"Will you just let me finish?"

"..."

_-a Muggleborn student named Louis Roseberg. He was Slytherin's prized pupil, challenged only by one other: Slytherin's eldest son, Soren, who was being reared by Slytherin to take his place at the school and as one of the greatest sorcerers in the world. Louis, however, wanted that power for himself and sought to take it by any means necessary._

"So Louis was jealous?"

"That's an apt way of putting it."

_Louis went to Slytherin himself multiple times, asking who he would choose as his successor. Each time, he was turned away, as Slytherin had seen the seed of evil in his apprentice and knew what damage the promise of power would bring._

_Still, Louis grew bitter at the rejection, or perhaps the lack thereof. He confronted Slytherin one last time, when he was nearing the end of his training. He threatened him at wandpoint to tell him who he would choose to uphold the Slytherin legacy._

_Despite knowing that he could easily overpower Louis, Slytherin declined to duel him, for he had no wish to kill a former pupil. With no other option, Slytherin reluctantly told Louis that he had planned for Soren to take his place._

_Enraged at being spurned, Louis, feeling abandoned and forsaken, vowed revenge on Slytherin, promising to right the wrong that his teacher had done._

"So he just left?"

"Do you want to hear the end of the story at all?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Then let me finish it!"

_Years went by, and there were no whispers of the whereabouts of Louis Roseberg. It wasn't until the Founders' Ceremony that he reemerged._

_The Founders Ceremony is where each of the founders would pass on their mantels to the next generation of witches and wizards, who would run Hogwarts in their stead. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had selected their daughters, while Hufflepuff and Slytherin had chosen their sons. The Ceremony was to take place on Samhain, the beginning of the wizarding new year, to usher in a new age of peace and progress._

_This wasn't, however, meant to be._

_Louis showed up to the Ceremony and, harnessing the greed that littered his bloodline, he sought to kill every student who had ever attended Hogwarts by burning them at the stake._

"What a hypocrite," scoffed Harry. 

"Tell me about it."

_"I have come home, master," Louis said, bowing to all of the founders but addressing one in particular._

_"This is no longer your home and I am no longer your master," said Slytherin._

_"Oh, yes. I had forgotten about your favorite. So where is Soren?" Louis laughed. "Have I scared him off?"_

_"This battle is between you and me, Louis! Leave my son and my students out of it!"_

_At this, Louis sneered, his eyes dark with anger. "So that's how it's going to be?"_

_The threat hung in the air, but the mighty Slytherin had faced worse danger than a disillusioned student. "That is how it must be."_

"First off, where the hell is Godric 'Hold My Butterbeer' Gryffindor during all this?"

"Hell if I know. It's not in the story."

_Though Louis had been trained by the greatest sorcerers of the age, he forwent his magical abilities to blend in with the Muggles he brought with him, all armed with pitchforks and torches, ready to rid the world of the 'heathens' that plagued it. This battle is now known as the Spilling._

"I have a bad feeling about this."

_When the smoke had dissipated and the rubble had been cleared away, Slytherin was left holding the body of his eldest son. The dagger he pulled from his back was the emerald-encrusted handle of the knife he'd given to Louis as a gift when he'd selected him to be his apprentice._

_They held a memorial, but the damage was already done. Slytherin's Heir was dead, killed by a Muggleborn that he himself had taught. Screaming for retribution, Slytherin vowed to never teach another student of Muggle heritage, branding their lineage as dirty. In his eyes, they were not worthy of learning magic, as they had needlessly spilled magical blood._

"So _that's_ where the word Mudblood came from!"

"Exactly."

_Slytherin proposed to his fellow founders that those borne of Muggles should not be taught the magical ways, for they had squandered that right by spilling magical blood. Ravenclaw agreed, for her daughter had been killed in the carnage, as well as some of her other students. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, however, said that magical students should not be discriminated against by their blood, no matter how dirty it was perceived as. Gryffindor even went so far as to insinuate that it was Soren's attitude as a pureblood that had led to his death._

"What a git."

_In protest, Slytherin resigned his post at Hogwarts and took his wife and remaining children into hiding. Before he left, he swore to a dying Ravenclaw that he would avenge their fallen children, as his true heir would return to purge the school of the filth that had infested it._

"Wait, why was Ravenclaw dying?"

"They say she died of a broken heart, brought on by the early and untimely death of her daughter. She stayed at Hogwarts for the rest of her life, but she died only a few years after Slytherin left."

"That sucks."

_So Slytherin built his Chamber and left within it a monster that could be controlled by none other than his true heir, the descendant of his blood._

"Parseltongue."

"What?"

"Er... nothing."

_And in just a few short years, the Founders' Four were cut down to two, and strife continued to beguile the wizarding world. Those who had lost family and friends in the Spilling followed Slyttherin's example and never again trusted those of Muggle heritage, continually insisting that the purity of blood should influence admittance to Hogwarts. Those who had survived the encounter concurred, and they banded together to secure the ban of Muggleborn students from Hogwarts, though half-bloods would still be admitted._

"Well, that's very progressive of them."

_Slytherin's line vanished into obscurity, with him secretly naming his second-born his heir, weaving enchantments around the locket he'd crafted to protect her. Legend says that his true heir will return to finish Slytherin's work and purge the school of those with dirty blood, finally avenging the death of Soren Slytherin._

* * *

Was that his destiny? To purge the school of all Muggleborns? To condemn those children, who'd been so excited to learn about magic, to grim and early deaths?

No, he decided. He would not do it. He didn't care that it might possibly ostracize him from his newfound family. Hermione had _been_ his family since he'd first arrived in the wizarding world, unsure of his name and his power. He'd be dead several times over if it weren't for her cleverness and her loyalty. He would sacrifice himself for her in a second, with no deliberation beforehand.

Their second year, when everyone thought it was _him_ who'd been Petrifying students, she'd stood by him, even though it would've surely meant her death if they had been right. 

She had accepted him even after finding out that he wasn't Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He'd been outed as the son of a murderer, the most dangerous and powerful Dark Lord that their world had ever seen, and a blood purist, who'd view her as nothing but dirt, but she'd stood by him. 

_She_ was his family. He didn't care if he let down his ancestors by not living up to Slytherin's legacy, he was _not_ going to hurt Hermione. 

After all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so it was a filler chapter. i guess you can kill me if you want. hope y'all like the new backstory i wrote.


	13. Runes, Rituals, and Rites

A woman appeared out of nowhere on a narrow cobblestone lane. She looked up and a single ray of light fell on her face. Her skin was pale, framed by light brown hair that fell in waves around her kind eyes. She had a strong jaw and thick lips that curved into a smile as she looked up the street, trailing along the high, neatly manicured hedge. She moved to take a step forward but a loud _crack_ rang out of nowhere and the woman startled, pulling a wand from inside her deep purple cloak and pointing it at the people who'd just appeared. 

The two people that appeared were shaking, their joyous laughter ringing throughout the sky. The taller of the two straightened first, revealing a woman with long black hair surrounding a pale face with startlingly green eyes. She bent to help up her companion, who'd fallen to the floor. They looked close enough alike to be related, perhaps brother and sister, though the boy wore round, rimmed glasses that he straightened when he stood to his full height. He was clutching a leash, at the end of which was a large black dog who looked far more intelligent than any normal dog. 

The green-eyed woman glanced up and, upon seeing the brown-haired woman, grinned and launched herself into her arms. 

"Mum!" she shouted to the world, completely ignoring the fact that a second ago she had a wand pointed at her chest. 

"Nymphadora?" The first woman's eyes widened and she clutched the younger woman in a tight hug. "Is that you, darling?"

"Um, _duh."_ When the woman pulled away from the hug, her hair was no longer long and black, but short and a bright shade of pink; her eyes were no longer green, having darkened until the pupil and iris were nearly indistinguishable from each other. "Do you have other children I don't know about?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," said the older woman dryly, stowing her wand inside her robes. "Who are you - _ack!"_

The woman cut off suddenly as she was tackled to the ground. The great black dog seemed to have torn itself from the boy's grasp and was now entertaining itself by licking her face. 

"Sirius!" The woman was laughing as she attempted to get the dog off of her. "Sirius, get off me!"

The dog extracted itself from the pile of limbs and sat on the ground, its silhouette morphing and blurring until the dog was no longer there, its place taken by a man with pale skin, lustrous black hair, and striking grey eyes. He was sitting cross-legged on the cobblestone floor next to the woman he'd tackled, a grin on his face. 

"Hey, Andy," he said. 

The woman, upon seeing his face, shrieked and tackled him to the ground. "You - wipe - that- smile - off - your - face - Sirius - Black!" Each of her words was punctuated by a blow. 

"Gerroff me, Andromeda!" 

Eventually, the two detangled themselves, chests heaving. Sirius sent a crooked smile to his cousin. 

"Missed me that much, did you?" he asked. 

The woman sniffed haughtily. "I didn't even notice you were gone," she said as she helped him up and threw her arms around Sirius, who huffed and returned the embrace, burying his face in her long hair.

They stood like that for a moment, kin reunited at long last. The other woman, Nymphadora, reached out and beckoned her spectacled companion forward, taking his hand and tapping her want against a ring on his pinky. Shrouded by darkness, the boy's face was hidden but his silhouette moved as he went to remove his glasses. 

"Thanks," he said, looking around.

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high hedge that looked expensive to keep. The branches of overhanging trees broke the waning sunlight so it fell oddly on the cobblestone floor, the pathways looking rough and uneven. 

"And is this who I think it is?"

The boy looked up to see Andromeda looking at him with shock displayed plainly on her face. Tears filled her eyes as she shoved Sirius out of the way and grabbed the young wizard in her arms. 

"We all feared the worst," she sobbed into his hair, clutching at him as though her life depended on it. "The whole family went on a mad search for you when Dumbledore took you. It nearly drove your father to his grave!"

The boy gave a muffled response, the noise suppressed by the long hair covering his face. 

"Oh, you poor boy!" Andromeda pulled away and planted a kiss on his forehead. "You'll have to tell me the whole story. As much as you remember!"

"Well, I'd rather not repeat it twice."

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, as Andromeda's eyebrows creased in concern and she sent a guarded look to Sirius. 

"No, wait! I..." The boy trailed off with a sigh. "I just meant that we're going to meet up with the rest of the family in a few minutes to celebrate Yule. I'd rather say it with the whole family there."

Andromeda's face brightened considerably. "Oh, of course! How silly of me." She waved them forward, pulling her cloak around her and glancing up to the sky. "Come on, you lot. We're running behind schedule!"

Nymphadora heaved a great sigh as they moved to follow. "She's like that all the time."

* * *

They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane, long cloaks flapping around their ankles. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring their way. Anubis slowed his pace but neither Sirius nor Andromeda broke step, both of them drawing their wands with their right hand and folding it across their chest in a kind of salute. 

They passed straight through as though the dark metal were smoke. 

Anubis exchanged a look with Tonks, who looked as uneasy as he felt. Obviously, she'd never had to enter Malfoy Manor in this way, at least not recently. 

"Come on, pup, we're losing daylight," called Sirius from the other side of the barrier, stowing his wand back in his robes. 

"Just cross your arm over your chest!" Andromeda repeated her motion from earlier, the tip of her wand up by her left ear. 

Anubis hesitated. It couldn't be _too_ complicated. Sirius and Andromeda hadn't mentioned anything about an incantation, so maybe only the gesture was needed? Come to think of it, Platform Nine and Three Quarters didn't need an incantation either! Just the will to get through the barrier. 

Before he could change his mind, Anubis laid his forearm diagonally across his chest and walked as fast as he could to the gates, fully expecting for the cold iron to smack him in the face and for Andromeda to want to completely cut such a magically inept wizard from the family...

Instead, he felt warm hands cup his shoulders.

"Good job, dear," Andromeda said as Tonks followed him through the barrier. "Just so you know, I wouldn't have laughed if you fell."

"I would've!" Sirius yelled from up the path, having already started the trek to Malfoy Manor. 

The yew hedges muffled the sound of their footsteps. The sun was low enough for the other half of the sky to be a dark blue, blending into pinks and oranges and yellows as the sun's rays grew weaker. A pure white peacock was strutting majestically along the top of the hedge on their right. 

"I didn't know Draco could climb," Tonks whispered to Anubis, who snorted and had to bite his knuckles to keep from making another sound.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark gardens beyond the hedges that lined the gravel path, there were two fountains on either side. They were hidden from view, but Anubis could hear the gentle trickling of water as it played.

As the gravel crunched beneath their feet, Anubis couldn't help but feel his heart rate speed up and a sense of impending doom overtook him. He had never once met Narcissa Malfoy, but he had met Lucius. He'd been cold and aloof, rude and passive-aggressive in a way that had grated on his nerves as a child. It was everything he'd been told about purebloods, everything he'd been taught to hate. Even last summer, Lucius had stood by and did nothing while he was tortured in a dark graveyard. 

_"My dad's not really like that, you know," said Draco, who was seated across from him._

_"Somehow I doubt that," Anubis (in the guide of Harry Potter) said dryly, flipping a page in_ Magical Drafts and Potions _. "He hasn't exactly turned over a new leaf since last summer."_

_Draco rolled his eyes. "Well obviously not," he said. "He still thinks he's talking to Harry Potter, Dumbledore's Golden Boy."_

_"So your reasoning for him being an arrogant toerag is that he doesn't know he's talking to his master's son?" He snorted. "Not a very good defense."_

_"It wasn't meant to be," said Draco easily. "I'm just saying that you should have an open mind when you meet him."_

_"I will if he does," Harry muttered into his book._

_"Well, good."_

_"Fine."_

Too soon, they were at the entrance to the Manor. The number of oranges and pinks in the sky had greatly diminished at this point, leaving behind a great streak of blues and grays as the sun set. 

"Bit pretentious, isn't it?" Tonks asked him as Andromeda knocked on the door. " _I'm_ not going to have peacocks at _my_ Manor."

"Your Manor?" Anubis nudged her with his elbow. "Planning to marry up?"

Tonks laughed. "Marry up? If anything I'll be marrying down! We're part of one of the richest families in Wizarding Britain! We're practically _royalty_ , for Merlin's sake! Both of us are bound to inherit one of the properties."

Anubis grinned. "I'll have peacocks at mine, then."

Tonks looked nauseated at the very thought. "Why?"

"Just to annoy you."

"Oh, you little-"

The door opened and Tonks jumped, nearly falling off the step she was standing on. She was spared from the embarrassment when Anubis reached out and, with the skill of a seasoned Quidditch player, hauled her back into balance. 

"Fine," she said as the adults in front of them began politely conversating. "I'll allow you and your damn peacocks."

"Glad to hear it."

Ahead of them, Andromeda was replying to something whoever had opened the door had said. 

"-couldn't come, unfortunately, Cissy. You know how busy he is with the Ministry these days..."

"Oh, of course, of course," a woman said in a clear, pleasant voice as Andromeda stepped inside the foyer. "Lucius is the same, Andy. Always at work, these husbands of ours."

"Unfortunately, for all of you, I'm here to rain on your parade."

"SIRIUS!"

A pale, blonde head appeared over Sirius's shoulder as Narcissa Malfoy threw herself in his arms. 

"Hello, Cissa. Long time no see."

"Twelve years in fact," said Narcissa, pulling away and wiping away a tear. Her smile was blinding. "Went and acted like the Gryffindor you are, charging in blindly without a half-formed plan-"

"Hey!" Sirius looked slightly offended. "I was on my way to kill-"

"Yes, yes, we know," Andromeda said from inside the house, taking off her cloak with a flourish, folding it and handing it to a nearby house elf. "Pettigrew will always be a thorn in our side. I'd have gone after him myself if he hadn't been under the Dark Lord's protection."

An ugly taste had begun simmering in Anubis's mouth. They were coming dangerously close to the kind of talk he'd wanted to avoid. 

"And it's about time that that protection run out," said Narcissa with the air of someone who was about to say something no one else had knowledge of.

Sirius stiffened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Anubis could understand his curiosity. Peter Pettigrew had not only betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort, but he also framed Sirius for their deaths, causing him to be sent to Azkaban while Pettigrew went free. Sirius spent twelve years long years there, with only the thought of his innocence sustaining him. They'd had a chance to kill him two years ago, when it was revealed that Pettigrew was disguised as Ron's pet rat, Scabbers.

"I'll tell you after Yule, dear. For now-" Narcissa peered around a shell-shocked Sirius at Anubis and Tonks, her clear blue eyes twinkling. "-I'd like to see my niece and nephew."

She walked around Sirius to Tonks. 

"Hello, Aunt Narcissa," Tonks said, swooping in for a hug. "How do you like the hair?"

Narcissa hummed thoughtfully, her pale fingers brushing away a lock of Tonks's bright pink hair. "I think it'd look better long," she said, conjuring a long, delicate-looking hairpin out of thin air. "If you want to tie it up, you can use this."

"Really?" Tonks gasped, taking the hairpin gently, as though any wrong move would result in its immediate destruction. "Thanks!" Within seconds, Tonks's short and spiky hair grew to touch her waist, and she reached back to twist it into an elaborate bun. 

"What do you think?" she asked Anubis, turning from side to side to showcase her new trinket. 

He grinned at her. "Brilliant."

As Tonks and Sirius moved inside the house, handing their long cloaks to the attending house elves, Narcissa went to cup Anubis's face. 

"You look so much like your father," she said, and Anubis felt a pang in his chest. "You do have some elements of my sister, though." She smoothed back his hair. "It's the eyes." More tears were shining in her eyes, threatening to fall. 

Against his will, Anubis felt his throat closing up, as though there was barbed wire wrapped around his neck. 

"I get that a lot," he said automatically, the familiar phrase falling from his lips without a second thought. His voice sounded hoarser than usual; hopefully, he wasn't getting sick.

"I'm sure you do, dear," Narcissa said, wiping away her tears and giving him a watery smile. "Come inside, then, and out of this dreadful cold."

She led him inside and the warmth hit him like a hammer, making the tips of his fingers tingle as the feeling started to come back. A house-elf, dressed in a far cleaner rag than Kreacher's, came up to him and gestured for his coat.

Ignoring the voice that sounded eerily like Hermione, Anubis shrugged off his cloak and handed it to the house-elf, giving it a weak smile. It's already large eyes widened to a comical degree and it gave a little squeak as it disappeared with a quiet _crack_. 

"Come on, come on," called Narcissa, walking through a doorway ahead of them. "Draco and Lucius are already waiting for us in the courtyard." She bounced on her toes, eyes bright. "We'll finally have seven for the circle!"

"Uh, what's she talking about?" Anubis asked Tonks.

She gave him a weird look. "The magical circle? For Yule?"

"Oh, right," Anubis said, his stomach dropping lower and lower. "Of course."

His reading on Yule had mentioned magical circles, but he hadn't looked into it more than that. There were other Yule celebrations that most families did apart from the circles, so they hadn't really been at the forefront of his mind. 

"Don't worry," said Tonks, having evidently noticed his distress. "We all say the same thing. There shouldn't be any Latin that's _too_ fancy unless you count the rites."

"The what?"

But she didn't hear him, having already sped up to chat amicably with her mother. The prospect ofLatin was frightening for him. Were they supposed to do spells? Were there any rites or rituals that he was supposed to have read up on?

They walked through the hallway, passing portraits of the Malfoy ancestors. All of them, unsurprisingly, looked like older versions of Lucius and Draco, with pale grey eyes and platinum blond hair. They all had plaques underneath their portraits, made of dark wood and engraved with gold. 

_Lord Brutus Malfoy, editor of_ Warlock at War _; Lord Septimus Malfoy, Advisor to the Minister for Magic; Lord Abraxas Malfoy, Master of_ La Bataille

Dimly, Anubis translated French to 'Master of Battle'. Or maybe it was 'sword'...

Floating candles lit the path out to the courtyard. Stone columns set in a circle held up the ceiling, but there was no ceiling to be held up, only what seemed to be a border. The sunset was on full display, a myriad of blues and oranges lighting up the sky. On the ground, there was a large marble circle engraved with faintly glowing runes in the shape of another circle, with seven smaller circles interrupting it in equal intervals.

Draco was kneeling on one of the runes already, his pale features illuminated by a faint white light. He looked up at them and, upon seeing Anubis, grinned. He stood from his spot and made his way to them. 

"Good to see you, mate," said Anubis, relieved to finally see a familiar face. They grasped hands and embraced in a one-armed hug. 

"Same here," said Draco, patting him on the shoulder. "I was beginning to worry."

"We were just running late," Tonks said with a devious grin. "Sirius wanted to shit on every other front porch we passed."

Draco snorted, and Narcissa immediately began berating a cornered-looking Sirius. 

" _Really_ , Sirius? Must you lower yourself to such levels?"

"Hey!" Sirius looked so utterly offended, it was laughable. "It isn't _my_ fault I digest faster as a canine."

Anubis was too busy trying to hold in his laughter that he didn't notice who was approaching him until they spoke. 

"Anubis Riddle," the voice said, making both Draco and Anubis jump and whirl around. Behind them, in all of his pale-haired, pointy-faced glory, was Lucius Malfoy, looking down his nose at them. "How curious it is that you would emerge now."

"Curious, sir?" Anubis had to struggle to keep his face impassive as Draco stiffened next to him. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"All I mean is that the timing is a bit... _convenient,_ " said Lucius, arching an eyebrow. 

"Well, believe me, sir. If I'd had the opportunity to be reunited with my blood family any sooner, you can be certain that I would've taken it. Alas," he said, trying to mimic the syllabic hiss that Tom Riddle spoke with, "certain circumstances are outside our control." He sneered, unable to keep his face blank for a moment longer. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that with my 'convenient timing,' but I hadn't exactly wished to be kidnapped as a child."

They stood there for a moment, cold grey staring into molten silver, until-

"Lucius!" Narcissa appeared at her husband's side, taking his arm and pulling him to the circle. "It's almost sunset, boys," she called to Draco and Anubis. "Time to celebrate!"

Before either of them made a move to follow, Draco turned to Anubis. 

"You alright?" he asked, grey eyes concerned. 

"I'm fine." Anubis ran a hand through his hair, immediately regretting it when his curly hair fluffed up into a frizzy mess. "Told you that was going to happen."

"No need for the 'I told you so,'" grumbled Draco. "I'm not deaf."

They moved to the circle, each kneeling at the only two empty circles. Anubis had never taken Ancient Runes, a fact he was now regretting. Hermione had tried to convince him to take it, but his obsession with knowing the future had blinded him to the truth, especially now that he knew that, despite Dumbledore's assurances to the contrary, Trelawney was almost certainly a fraud, something Draco had made a habit of throwing in Anubis's face whenever he had to make up a dream for his journal. 

As the sky darkened until there was hardly any red or orange left, Lucius raised his wand - it had a snake's head at the end, how pompous - to the sky. 

"As the sorcerer among us who has been declared the longest, I hereby open this circle." 

The tiny runes making up the edges of the circle started glowing with faint white light. As one, everyone turned to their right, a motion that Anubis hastened to copy. They pointed their wands towards the ground (Anubis hastily drew his wand) at a slight angle and then slowly begin to walk around the circle, following in each other’s footsteps. 

Lucius suddenly muttered something in Latin so quietly it was nearly impossible for Anubis to hear the proper pronunciation. His heart began to race. Lucius was obviously searching for something, a single piece of evidence that would brand him as an imposter. The only glamour that Anubis was wearing at the moment - and in some ways, the most important - was the one in place to hide his scar. If it was removed...

He heard Draco's quiet scoff and then his loud _"Nobiscum."_

Resisting the urge to turn around and grin in satisfaction, Anubis repeated the incantation at a reasonable volume. Sirius followed, then Tonks then Andromeda, then Narcissa, following the turn of the circle until it reached Lucius, at which point they all stopped walking, back in their original circles. The glowing had intensified, now so bright they had to squint to see, but Anubis could see the faint glimmering of a dome as it expanded above their heads, encasing them in a protective bubble.

Lucius gave Draco a sideways glance as they all turned to face the center of the circle. “A circle has no beginning and it never ends. This is our life, and this is our magic,” he said. “One by one, you shall be called. If you choose to do a dark rite, you may do so at that point. You may also decline. I will begin.”

They all watched as Lucius stepped forward into the center of the circle and the light dimmed as he turned to face Narcissa. "I wish to renew the rite of marriage."

Andromeda let out a surprisingly ladylike snort. "What a romantic," she teased, winking at her sister. 

Narcissa only smiled indulgently and stood. What Anubis had thought were just plain black robes, turned into a myriad of pale blues and light greens as the light from the circle reflected off them. She took a step toward her husband, whose expression melted from the blank canvas he'd been wearing to a soft smile. 

Narcissa's lips twitched and she raised her wand to the sky. "You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand."

She took a deep breath. _"Hunc ego me tibi,"_ she finished, and the runes carved into the marble glowed brightly before dimming dramatically, leaving the glowing tip of Narcissa's wand the only source of light. 

Lucius raised his wand, pointing it at the stars above. "I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and yours will be the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite from my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and to tell no strangers of our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you. _Hunc ego me tibi."_

The same thing as before happened, ending with Lucius's wand glowing as brightly as Narcissa's. They smiled at each other before grasping the others' forearm and pointing their wands at where they were joined. 

_"Et adoramus te usque in sempiternum,"_ they chanted together, and Anubis felt magic swell around them, so pungent and so passionate that he felt his throat close up. The stars above seemed to twinkle brighter as the runes glowed once more before dimming. 

As everyone started cheering and yelling their joy to the heavens, Anubis couldn't help but wonder how something born of love, the purest emotion, could be considered dark. 

Lucius and Narcissa had already returned to their kneeling positions in the circle, sharing one last smile before becoming serious again.

"Draco Malfoy," said Lucius.

"I have no wish to perform a rite tonight."

Lucius nodded, then turned to Anubis. "Anubis Riddle."

He hesitated for a moment. It would be incredibly useful to do one of these rights, if only he knew how to actually _do_ them. "I have no wish to perform a rite tonight."

Lucius nodded again, looking far more reluctant this time. "Sirius Black."

Sirius stood and moved to the center of the circle. "I wish to perform the rite of protection," he said, and Anubis straightened in anticipation.

Sirius had mentioned doing a rite to 'show him the ropes', but he hadn't said anything other than that. He'd already seen the rite of marriage, but he thought he wouldn't need that for a long time.

Protection, though... that was something he would need. 

"I wish to bestow the gift of protection on the next generation, the children of my cousins, as my gift to them on this happy night," finished Sirius, and Anubis felt his lips part in surprise. 

Tonks squealed and exchanged excited looks with Draco and Anubis. 

"Not going to protect yourself, Sirius?" Lucius's voice was teasing but his eyes were probing. 

Sirius met his gaze evenly. "They need it more than we do, Lucius," he said grimly, pointing his wand at the sky. "We both know that."

Lucius's gaze grew thoughtful and he and Narcissa interlocked their fingers as Sirius started to speak. 

"Earthbound magic, I call upon you to protect my kin!"

Anubis felt a chill run down his spine as magic itself started to swirl around them and is he squinted, he swore he could see its smokey tendrils concentrate on him, Draco, and Tonks, swirling around them like mini twisters. 

"To protect them from harm!"

A sound like a gong rang out as the runes in their circles began glowing. 

"To protect them from illness!"

A high pitched ringing pierced through the quiet night. The sounds of gongs banging sped up and Anubis recognized dimly that it was matching his heartbeat. 

"And to give them the knowledge they need to protect themselves!"

At this, Anubis felt the nearly-forgotten glass ball inside his chest crack just a bit more, and his head twitched to the side, an involuntary movement he seems to have developed at some point. 

"My magic pleads that they are protected, that they are strengthened, and that the spells they cast always strike true!"

The magic was swirling so fast that Anubis could barely see outside his little tornado, and it was impossible to catch a glimpse of Draco or Tonks. 

"Cast off ill and let evil be seen. As my magic wills it, so mote it be!"

One last gong rang out and Anubis gasped as every molecule in his body seemed to vibrate with the sound of it. The twister started to contract, closing in on him and dancing across his body in beautiful little arcs of white light. 

As the light began to vanish and his sight began to return, Anubis became aware of the ringing fading away, but now it wasn't just ringing. It was the hum of magic itself, ringing through his very being, telling him that he was safe, that he was protected, that he was _loved._

Blinking, Anubis - who couldn't stop himself from smiling - looked up to thank Sirius (and possibly swear to uphold his legacy as a troublemaker at Hogwarts for the remainder of his time there) when he saw Sirius collapse to one knee. 

"Sirius!"

Anubis made to stand up, panic gripping him as he watched a family member fall to the floor, but Sirius waved him off. 

"I'm alright," he panted, his hair falling in front of his face as he looked to the floor. "Just tired is all."

"Sirius Black!" Narcissa shrieked, her admonishing voice somewhat tempered by the tears streaming down her cheeks. "That was an extremely difficult bit of magic! Why didn't you-"

"Ask for help? I should hope not. If I couldn't perform that spell by myself, I would've been losing my touch," Sirius said, pulling himself to his feet and flipping his hair out of his face. He gave a winning smile as he took his place in the circle again. "Looks like I've still got it, though."

Anubis grinned and nudged Sirius with his elbow. "Good thing you can still get it up, eh?"

Sirius flicked his ear. "Brat."

Anubis snorted but said nothing else because Lucius was moving to continue the ritual. 

"Nymphadora Tonks," he said. 

Tonks stood and moved to the center of the circle. "I wish to perform the rite of stealth," she said.

"About bloody time," Sirius interjected with a wolfish grin. "Maybe now you'll stop knocking over everything in-" He broke off suddenly, as though he forgot the word he was about to say. "Everything I own," he finished rather lamely, looking down at the ground with a frown. 

Andromeda laughed politely and Anubis joined in, if only to dispel the tense silence that had suddenly blanketed them. Lucius was giving Sirius a piercing look, as though he was trying to read his mind. He turned to Narcissa with a raised eyebrow, but she just pursed her lips and turned her head slightly away from him. 

It's the Fidelius, Anubis realized, exchanging a panicked look with Tonks. It's preventing him from saying the location of the Order's headquarters, as only the Secret Keeper could reveal whatever was hidden by the Fidelius. 

As Tonks started to go through the motions of her rite, Anubis sent a look to Sirius, who was still frowning at the floor. He waved him off with a disturbed look on his face, mouthing 'later' to him, though he was brought out of whatever thoughts he was having when the circle glowed again, signifying the end of Tonks's rite. 

They all clapped politely as Tonks took her place in the circle again, though conversation was a bit more stilted as Sirius, Tonks, and Anubis worked together to steer the talk away from Sirius's near slip. It wasn't too difficult, as Andromeda and Narcissa seemed hell-bent on avoiding any and all confrontation. Even though Draco had sent him a questioning look, all Anubis had to do was shake his head once and Draco changed the subject.

When both Andromeda and Narcissa had completed their rites (memory and love, respectively), Lucius once again raised his wand to the sky, a motion copied by the rest of them. “A circle has no beginning and it never ends. This is our life, and this is our magic,” he said, bringing his wand down to point at the center of the circle (again, they followed his lead). "We bring this night to a close, but we plead that our rites hold and that our magic protects us."

They all swept their wands from the center across the circular line of runes. Anubis could see the dome crack and disappear into nothingness, little sparks of magic floating up into the sky to blend in with the stars. 

The feeling of magic itself crackling under his skin made him feel as though this was the first time he was ever truly _alive_. Never, ever in his short, miserable life had he ever had an experience with magic that was this... _magical_ , for lack of a better term. And as the last remnants of their circle drifted up into the sky, Anubis felt in his soul, in his very _being_ that he never wanted to go without feeling that again, no matter what Dumbledore said. 

How was something this magical scorned by the wizarding world? How were they just standing by as their traditions were bastardized by those on the side of the Light, in favor of appeasing Muggleborns instead of sticking to their traditions that had been in place for thousands of years?

Anubis knew what the Light's agenda was in pushing for the acceptance of Muggleborns. He also knew why the Dark was so against it. He had the unique opportunity of being the one with the knowledge of both sides of the war, having been groomed to be a martyr for the Light while having Dark tendencies himself. 

He knew he would eventually be forced to pick a side, either his family or his morals. There would come a time when he had to either throw his support behind his pureblood relatives and their mass-murdering agenda or to fight in defense of the people who quite literally _stole_ him from his crib. 

Could he do that? Could he cast aside his newly found family to make his conscience rest easy? Could he comfort himself in knowing that he was going against killers and the evil they stood for, despite knowing that they were his _family?_ That they were blood? Was he capable of such blasphemy?

But...

Would he have even questioned his side in the war if he had been raised as Anubis Riddle, son of the Dark Lord and the Heir to Slytherin's legacy? Would he still be friends with Hermione if he had been raised to see her as nothing but dirt? Would he have been the one to set the Basilisk on the school?

He felt cold. He knew himself, and he knew that his determination for perfection wouldn't let him walk away with mere Petrifications under his belt. No, he'd be sure to get the job done _right_. He wouldn't be sloppy and leave witnesses _._ No, he knew better than anyone how their story would end...

An Anubis Riddle that had been raised by the Dark would've killed every last Mudblood in Hogwarts, and he would've done it with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! There might not be an update next week because even though I have all this week off for Thanksgiving (sorry, I'm American), I'm going to be working on my applications for college. If there is somehow a new chapter a week from now, just disregard this message.


	15. important, please read

Hi all, just wanted to let you guys know why I haven't been updating. 

Right after my college applications were due (keep in mind, I still haven't applied to all of the ones I wanted to, just the ones that were imminently due), I had finals week at my school. Now, my grades are super important to me, especially since I really want to get into a good college. 

I also know that I've kind of abandoned this fic, for lack of a better word. I tend to have a habit of thinking things out in my head, but never really getting the time to write them out in a way that would do them justice. This is sort of what happened here. 

I've read the comments. I know there are some things that I could've done better. I was just so excited that I was finally posting something, that I didn't really see (or maybe I didn't _want_ to see) the plotholes that I would create. Rest assured, this is something I'm aiming to fix. 

This fic will now be under construction. 

I know some of you are chomping at the bit to get a new chapter, and you will; just not as soon as you'd hoped for. 

I'm sorry. I know there are those of you that really enjoy this story, and I know there are those of you (though, admittedly, fewer) that actually like the path that I've taken in writing these amazing characters. But the problem is, I don't. 

I'll fix this story. I'll make it better. And I _finally_ have time now, because the 18th is my last day of school, then I go on winter break, so you won't have to wait too long for some new content. 

Thank you to those of you who commented. I've always tried my best to take constructive criticism, and this is one of those times where I realize that it's something that _I_ have to fix, something that _I_ have to change. And I'll do it, not only for your satisfaction but also for mine. 

Thank you for understanding. You guys mean the world to me. 

place_called_space


	16. PLEASE READ

Hi all!

I've just posted the first chapter of the revised and revisited version of _enigma_[here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882149). I hope you all enjoy it!

Also, please don't say anything about this story in the comments of the new one! Something that I revealed pretty early on here will take a LOT longer in the new story so please keep that in mind :)

Happy reading, everyone!

If y'all want to add the new story to the collections that the old story was in, don't hesitate to submit a request! I'll approve you as soon as I can! :)


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